


Intertwined

by badskippy



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternative Universe - No Ring(s) of Power, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dwarven Ones | Soulmates, M/M, One True Pairing, Smaug Killed Thror, Thrain Didn't Go Crazy, Thrain Lived to Rule, True Love, What If Thorin met Bilbo Years Before, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-22 17:16:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 41,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6087951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badskippy/pseuds/badskippy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a devastating winter, that took the lives of many Durin's Folk, The Dwarrow of The Blue Mountains forge a treaty with The Hobbits of The Shire ... food in exchange for increased protection.  And if an arranged marriage between their King, Thrain, and one of the grandchildren of The Shire's Thain, is required to seal the deal, than the Dwarf-king will do what it takes.</p><p>However, crown-prince Thorin Oakenshield isn't totally convinced that the Hobbits can be trusted and he sets out to find the truth behind this so called, 'Good-Will Treaty', and the miserable mite of a Hobbit that would agree to a loveless marriage.  </p><p>Come what may, Thorin is determined to find out what tricks and deceptions this ... Bilbo Baggins, has up his sleeve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this story, Isildur did NOT fail and the One Ring was Destroyed. Orcs are less of a threat but still a threat nonetheless. Smaug did still come and took control of Erebor, but ... well, let's just say, things worked out differently. Without the Rings of Power in play, the gold-sickness is far less and Thrain lived on to take his people to the Blue Mountains to live.
> 
> All the backstory will be explained here and there, but the whole history will be told by the end of the story.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this.

* * *

 

_**2924 - OF THE THIRD AGE** _

 

            “This is a joke,” Thorin said laughing; incredulous.

            “I assure you, it is no joke,” Thrain replied.

            “It has to be!” Thorin insisted. “Because if it isn’t, then it’s insane!”

            “I’ve not lost my mind,” Thrain said dryly.

            “Then whoever suggested the whole _idea_ must be insane!” Thorin said.

            Thrain sighed; it was going to be a long argument.

            "You've planned this for months," Thorin stated.  "Why am I just now hearing of it?!"

            Thrain raised an eyebrow at his son.  "Let us just say ... your _reaction_ was foreseen."

            Thorin huffed out a sigh, then asked, “Why can’t we simply buy what we need?”

            “You know perfectly well why!" Thrain said tersely; he was getting irritated. “We’ve barely the money to pay the miners and keep the mines running … mines, I’d needn’t remind you, that produce very little copper, even less silver and no gold.”

            “But why must it be you to … ‘ _pay_ ’ the price?” Thorin asked. “Why not Dis, or some minor royal?”

            “I’m a minor royal now, am I?” Dis said, insulted.

            “That isn’t what I said,” Thorin said, glaring at his sister.

            “Sounded like it to me,” Dis stated.

            Thorin growled again.

            “You know it can’t be Dis!” Thrain said, almost shocked. “She has already been married her One!  Married and lost him!  To marry again, would be repugnant.”

            “But you’ve lost mother!” Thorin threw out. “How is it any different?”

            “And again, why do you ask questions you know the answer to,” Thrain said. “A King is a caste onto himself … to marry again isn’t unheard of, especially a political one, and this marriage will not result in children so there is little concern there.”

            “But, father,” Thorin sneered. “A Hobbit? Of all the races—”

            “Would an Elf be more to your liking?” Thrain asked.

            Thorin almost spit. “I’d rather it be an Orc than an Elf.”

            “There you go,” Thrain said.

            Thorin shook his head, he was losing the battle and knew it. “But couldn’t it at least be _a female_? A Queen for the general public to see as a pampered thing; someone to be ignored?”

            “I take issue with female ‘ _pampering_ ,’” Dis said hotly. “We’re as strong as any male and you know it!” Dis reached for the hilt of her sword but didn’t draw it.

            Thorin, however, was not to be baited. “I’m talking about a Hobbit-lass, not a Dwarrowdam!”

            “Makes no difference,” Dis said, not removing her hand from her sword. “To judge someone by their sex is degrading!”

            “THAT ISN’T WHAT I MEANT!” Thorin roared.

            “THEN SPEAK CLEARLY, YOU IDIOT!” Dis thundered.

            “Enough!” Thrain shouted and brought the room to blessed silence. He drew a steadying breath and released it slowly, all the while pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to dispel a headache that threated to explode. “Thorin … Hobbit’s don’t approve of males coupling—”

            “Then why—”

            “— _unlike Dwarrow_ ,” Thrain continued. “But while Hobbits disapprove of it in their culture they accept it in others. A Hobbit male will be accepted by our people, fulfill the treaty terms and ensure that no children can come of the union.”

            “Why not just have a provision,” Thorin argued. “that excludes any children that might come of the marriage? Then you wouldn’t have to degrade—”

            “There already is a provision for such a thing,” Balin added quietly, having allowed the royals to argue the points up to now. “Even with a male, that clause is added as a matter of standard.  However, if your father marries a female ... even with the provision stated and agreed to ... and a child is born of their union, it might still be a sticky issue _later on_ … especially if others believe that the child should have full rights to the throne.”

            “That’s ridiculous!” Thorin said, almost laughing.

            “Even a half-Dwarrow child,” Balin pointed-out, “born of a reigning king, would normally have rights to ascension. Regardless of the treaty terms excluding him at this time, if that child later wishes to sue for his place in the line, the Council of Elders may have to agree if enough of the populace back the claimant.”

            “No one would do that,” Thorin said, but he didn’t sound convinced himself.

            “It might be a long while before the issue comes up,” Balin said. “Plenty of time for someone to build support.   And I hate to point out that this child could have a place before Fili and Kili.”

            “That’s absurd!” Dis shouted. “They were born first!”

            “A child born of your father,” Balin said, “even though born after your sons, and especially if that child is a male, would take his place behind Thorin in the line of succession.”

            Everyone was silent then. Each lost in their thoughts but clearly coming to the same conclusion; there was little to be done.

            “This treaty,” Thrain said, “will provide us with plenty of food during the winter months, and in return, we provide extra protection for The Shire during that time. Marrying a male Hobbit will eliminate the issues of a child, solidify the terms agree to by The Thain of The Shire and … who knows … I might actually be happy in the long run.”

            Thorin did spit at that. “How can you even think that?!”

            “I’ve met the young man,” Thrain said. “He is amiable, intelligent, kind, and rather jovial in a dry witty sort of way. In time he and I may develop a connection that will make the union enjoyable.”

            “You’ve got to kidding me!” Thorin barked.

            “I’M TRYING TO MAKE THE BEST OF THE SITUATION!” Thrain roared back, standing up and glaring at his son. “Or shall I revoke the treaty now and we can all sit back and wait for a repeat of last year!”

            No one in the room needed reminding of the previous year. It had been harsh. Winter set in much earlier than expected and lasted far longer than anticipated. In the end, dozens of Dwarrow perished from starvation, children included. It was a terrible loss and quite a few blamed the royal family and the Council for the failure to provide.

            “The bottom-line is this,” Thrain said with finality and sitting back down. “This treaty is a necessity to ensure the survival of our people, Thorin. I will not risk any more lives simply because you cannot see past your own prejudices.”

            Thorin nodded, defeated. Dis looked resigned if apprehensive.

            Thrain drew a great breath and released it, calmed enough to continue. “Balin,” Thrain turned to his adviser. “Has the Council decided on suitable candidates as escorts for our future consort?”

            “Not as yet,” Balin said. “But we expect to—”

            “I’ll go.”

            Every head turned towards Thorin.

            “I’ll escort the Hobbit myself,” Thorin said. “Along with Dwalin.” Thorin gestured to his personal guard and second, who had remained silent.

            “You?” Dis said, with a cocked eyebrow. “Planning on drowning him in the river on the way back here?”

            Thorin gave his sister a sneer but said nothing.

            Thrain was even more dubious. “From your hatred over the plan—”

            “I do hate the plan,” Thorin confess. “But I am not a common murderer and I … I hold no ill will towards the Hobbit ... personally.”

            Thrain shook his head. “I don’t think you will harm him, but I have my doubts as to the wisdom of letting you—”

            “Please,” Thorin said. “Think of it as my way of apology for questioning your decision, and … perhaps … I will be able to get to know him better and learn to accept what is to come.”

            Thrain still looked doubtful, but he acquiesced. “Very well. Balin … will the Council accept Thorin’s offer?”

            “He and Dwalin are the best warriors we have,” Balin replied. “While they may be wary of sending the crown prince for this task, we cannot deny that the Hobbits would be pleased that a member of the royal family is the escort; they view family as very important.”

            Thrain nodded. “Indeed.” If he looked a little sad, no one questioned it. “Very well.” Thrain gave his son a nod. “You may go.”

            “Thank you, father,” Thorin said, bowing, then turning and leaving the room; Dwalin hot on his trail.

            However, Thorin wasn’t too far down the corridor when Dwalin grabbed his arm and swung him around so as to face each other.

            “Don’t lie to me,” Dwalin said, leaning close so that only Thorin could hear.

            “I don’t know what you mean,” Thorin said evenly, his face a mask of neutrality.

            “I know you,” Dwalin ground out, looking around to make sure no one was near. “Don’t give me this bleeding heart routine; you don’t give a rat’s arse about questioning your father in private, so what are you really up to?”

            Thorin repeated Dwalin’s move and looked around, making sure no one was near before whispering hoarsely, “I don’t trust the Hobbits.”

            “No shit.”

            “I don’t buy that this is some simple treaty and all is well between us.”

            “What do you think is going on, then?”

            “I don’t know, but I intended to use the time to get to the bottom of whatever they are hiding and finding out what they really want.”

            “You think it’s all a deception? You think they want to use us?”

            “Use us. Blackmail us. Thievery … I don’t know, but I swear, if I find out that they have ulterior motives, I will personally throw this … _Bilbo Baggins_ into to our deepest mine to rot!”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IN 2924 ....
> 
> Thrain is 280  
> Bilbo is 34  
> Thorin is 178  
> Dis is 164  
> Fili is 65  
> Kili is 60


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thrain isn't clueless ... and Thorin has more than a thing or two to say about Hobbits.

* * *

 

 

            “Thank you, your Majesty,” the merchant said with a sycophantic smile. “You are as generous as you are wise.”

            Thrain bestowed a obligatory, royal nod in the Dwarrow’s direction while the merchant slowly backed out of the room, bowing all the while.   Once he was gone, Balin announced that court would close for mid-day and reopen in an hour’s time. When everyone had left and the doors shut, leaving only Thrain, Dis and Balin behind, the king deflated.

            “Balin,” Thrain said, giving the advisor a leveled look. “I will cut off your beard if you allow that … that …”

            “Brown-nosing weasel?” Dis added, amused.

            “… ' _oily snake_ ' before me again.” Thrain finished with a huff.

            But Balin was not afraid; he saw the smirk playing about his king’s lips. “My apologies, sire, but he did petition for an audience. I could hardly refuse him.”

            Thrain rolled his eyes; Balin chuckled and Dis laughed outright. “Honestly,” Thrain said, rolling his head and standing. “If he continued trying to kiss my arse any more, I would've ended up having trouble sitting down for a week!”

            “But he was so _eloquent_ ,” Dis said sarcastically, earning glare from her father, which in turn had her laughing again.

            “And nothing he said was …” Balin said, smiling. “… _technically,_ untrue.”

            Balin chuckled at his own joke and Dis almost doubled over.

            Thrain could no longer hold back his own laughter but said, in mock seriousness, “If you two don’t stop, I will have a _disowned_ daughter and a _former_ advisor working in the kitchens!”

            “Come, father,” Dis said, hooking an arm through Thrain’s. “Clearly someone as _‘generous and wise’_ as yourself cannot go without food … it makes you spiky.”

            Thrain just shook his head. “Now I know where you sons got their smart-arse mouths from.”

            Dis giggled. “Like that was ever in question!”

            As Thrain, Dis and Balin started to exit the court chambers through the royal’s private portal, a knock on the main doors stopped them and they watched as a guard slipped in, bowed, and handed a note to Balin before making a quick exit.

            “Bad news, my friend?” Thrain asked.

            “No, sire, quite the opposite,” Balin said, finishing reading the missive. “The Raven Master writes that our scout birds have returned with news that Thorin and Dwalin broke camp at dawn and crossed over the River Lhun and into the Shire late this morning.”

            Thrain nodded. “Still a ways to go.” It usually took a fortnight to reach Hobbiton from Thrain’s Halls in The Blue Mountains and Thorin had left but five days prior.

            “Why is he doing this, do you think?” Dis asked.

            Thrain shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve no doubt he plans to interrogate our Hobbit on the return journey.”

            “I concur,” Balin added evenly.

            Dis was shocked. “Then why in the name of Mahal did you two let him go?!”

            “Because I’ve met Master Baggins,” Thrain smirked. “And I think your brother, and his prejudices, are in for a shock.”

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            “Look at them,” Thorin sneered, observing a few Hobbits at work in their fields. “How can we ally ourselves with such … _weaklings_?”

            “Because we’re crap at farming?” Dwalin offered.

            “It was a rhetorical question."

            “Nothing rhetorical about an empty stomach.”

            They were eight days, just over halfway, into their journey to Hobbiton and since passing into The Shire; Thorin had seen nothing to improve his opinion of The Hobbits. No training, poor shelter, no observable army or militia of any kind, not even a weapon in sight when it came to it!

            Thorin could only shake his head. “The only thing these … _creatures_ , would be a threat to is a buffet.”

            Dwalin shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d hate to get on the wrong end of one their pitchforks.”

            As they rode along, a few Hobbits would stop their work to stare at the traveling pair of Dwarrow, only to return to their fields once it was clear that Thorin and Dwalin posed no danger.   The had no trouble passing through the village of Gamwich, or even a few of the unnamed settlements along the road.

            Of course, they didn’t go completely ignored. As they exited the completely forgettable town of Nobottle, a group of young Hobbits, tweens if Thorin remembered correctly, gathered on the side of the road, watched the two Dwarrow intensely. Thorin gave them a dark stare hoping to scare the pack off, but failed to intimidate them in any way. However, when Dwalin turned to them, the whole gaggle of tweens suddenly broke into giggles; one young one even smiled and waved as the two passed on.

            “What in blazes did you do?” Thorin asked; Dwalin had been facing away from Thorin at the time.

            Dwalin shrugged, smirking a bit. “Nothing … just winked at them.” Dwalin turned back and gave the receding group a nod good-bye and another wink, sending the tweens once again into a riot of giggles.

            “Quit messing about,” Thorin snarled.

            “Only flirting a bit,” Dwalin said, unfazed by Thorin’s brooding.

            “Well, stop it.”

            “Look, just because they weren’t the least bit scared of your _majestic scowl_ doesn’t mean I can’t have a bit of fun.”

            “Have you forgotten we’re on a mission?”

            Dwalin rolled his eyes, saying dryly, “As if I could.”

            Thorin stopped his pony and glared at his cousin. “What’s that suppose to mean?”

            Dwalin stopped as well and returned Thorin’s look. “From the moment we set out, all I’ve listened to is your continued bitching and griping about the Hobbits! For the last, frigging _eight days_ I’ve had to listen to it! Enough already!”

            “If you don’t like it, you can head back!”

            Dwalin barked out a laugh, adding sarcastically, “How could I turn back when you so graciously _volunteered_ me to come along!”

            “I thought you shared my doubts!”

            “Oh, I have my doubts, all right.”

            “Well then?”

            “I’ve started doubting your doubts!”

            “What?!”

            “Thorin, look around you!” Dwalin sweep his arms wide. “You’ve said it over and over that these people are not soldiers, warriors or fighters of any kind!   Is it really so unthinkable that all they want is extra protection in exchange for food … food, I’d like to point out, they are able to grow in three times the quantity but using half the space that we do!”

            “I have no problem with the exchange! That isn’t the issue!” Thorin snarled “I actually think the treaty is a good idea.”

            “Then what, exactly, is your beef?”

            “It’s the provision of marriage.”

            “Arrange marriages are common with treaties … what’s the big deal?”

            “Where’s the advantage?” Thorin pointed out. “With most arranged marriages, there is an advantage to both sides; combining of kingdoms, begetting heirs, ensuring peace, ending of wars or disputes. But with this one, there is none of those things.”

            Dwalin shrugged. “Maybe this Thain person just wanted to have to the added prestige of royal relations … even if through marriage … to … I don’t know, strengthen his claim or right to lead.”

            Thorin shook his head. “You must not have been paying attention when Balin taught us world views.”

            Dwalin looked offended. “Really? What exactly did I miss then, _oh wise one_?”

            Thorin huffed out a sigh. “Just that Hobbits don’t view The Thain in the same way as a king; they have no use for royalty or rank.”

            “What’s your point?”

            “Just that having a Hobbit, even a family member, married into royalty would mean nothing in the long run.”

            Dwalin hummed out an agreement; it was hard to argue with that.

            “And remember,” Thorin said. “The treaty insisted that it be a male Hobbit.”

            Dwalin shrugged again, but said nothing, waiting for Thorin to continue.

            “Hobbit’s don’t approve or allow male coupling,” Thorin stated firmly. “So why make a social taboo a provisional point?”

            Dwalin shook his head.   “That I can’t answer.”

            “Let’s just say, for argument’s sake,” Thorin said, “that The Thain _did_ want the prestige of a royal union, a marriage with a Hobbit-lass able to bear a child, even if she and any of her offspring returned to The Shire after father passed on, would guarantee a continued and undisputable asset to his claim of real royalty. But another male would only be a short-term benefit; it would give him nothing in the end.”

            Again, Dwalin couldn’t argue the point.

            “No,” Thorin said, urging his pony to move on while Dwalin did the same. “There is something missing, some thing that’s been hidden from us, and that is what I have an issue with.”

            Dwalin got it now. “All right then. I’ll follow your lead.

            “Thank you,” Thorin said and meant it.

            “Just one thing,”

            “What’s that?”

            “Can you _please_ , stop your grousing and complaining about the damn Hobbits!”

            Thorin made a face but said nothing. For almost twenty minutes they rode on in blessed silence, with only the sound of the wind and occasional birdsong to break the quiet.  Until they passed a couple of hobbits walking on the road, and Thorin huffed out a great sigh.

            “What?” Dwalin grumbled.

            “They aren’t wearing any shoes!” Thorin protested “And look at those short pants; completely impractical!”

            Dwalin closed his eyes and concentrated on the clopping of his pony’s hooves, hoping the sound would drowned out Thorin’s continued bellyaching.

 

 

 

 

           


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

 

            Thrain quickly looked over the contract Balin had handed him. Something to do about something with the something in the mines regarding something and this someone didn’t want that someone to have something; it was always the same bitch – one miner or group wanted rights to this vein or that lode or those deposits, but another miner or group also claimed rights and soon they’d all start to squabble and complain and fight and blah, blah, blah.

            He just signed the damn thing and moved on; holding out his hand without looking, as Balin gave him yet another contract about something.

            “Please tell me,” Thrain said flatly, “that whatever stack you’re pulling these things from does have an actual end.”

            Balin chuckled. “Only about a dozen or so left, sire.”

            “Thank Mahal,” Thrain said, signing and holding out his hand for another one. “Any word on our boys?”

            “As a matter of fact,” Bali said, handing Thrain another contract. “The Ravens report that Thorin and Dwalin were but ten leagues from Hobbiton this morning. Barring any danger, they should arrive at Master Baggins’ around tea-time.”

            “It’s The Shire, Balin,” Thrain said evenly, as he scanned the contract before him. “The only danger will be if they stop too long at a pub.”

            “One never knows, Father,” Dis said as she sauntered into the room, a smirk on her face, and sat next to Thrain. “Thorin could be attacked by a mob of angry Hobbits.”

            “Only if he tried stealing some of their baked goods.” Thrain smiled to himself; during one of the last treaty meetings with the Hobbits, a guard made the _‘audacious’_ mistake of reaching for a muffin only to have his hand slapped away by a disapproving young Hobbit-lass and told that the muffins were for after, plus he needed to wash his hands.   Thrain thought it very funny and even more so when the guard later asked the young lass if she was _‘free and unattached’_ ; Dwarrow and their love of fierce, pretty things.

            However, speaking of Hobbits.

            “Balin,” Thrain said putting down a contract that made little sense. “I’ve been thinking about Master Baggins.”

            “I’m sure you have, Majesty,” Balin said with a small smile.

            Thrain rolled his eyes and shook his head.   “Get your mind out of the gutter. I’ve been worried about him fitting in.”

            “Worried that he’ll feel like an outsider?” Dis asked.

            “He _will be_ an outsider,” Thrain replied. “He’ll be the only Hobbit in a mountain filled with Dwarrow and some Dwarrow won’t like a Hobbit in their mountain.”

            “What do you suggest?” Balin said.

            “We should assign someone to him,” Thrain said. “Someone who can explain things. Someone who can keep his missteps to a minimum.  He should be made to feel comfortable, not embarrassed.”

            “I can have Fili and Kili accompany him around,” Dis stated.

            “I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” Thrain said with a pointed look.

            “But, they’re very excited about him coming,” Dis said. “I don’t think they'd harm him.”

            “Nor do I. Not physically anyway,” Thrain said. “But they may lead him into situations that are less than ideal.   While I’d hate to see him embarrassed, I _definitely_ don’t want him to be the source of jokes or scorn. I want someone who can explain our ways, but gently.”

            “Shouldn’t that be you,” Dis said softly.

            Thrain understood what she meant. “But I can’t always be with him. And while I hope we’ll be able to establish a connection, our shortened hours would take too much time. In truth, he and I are strangers and he will need someone now, someone who can be a friend, someone to turn to, someone he can be open—”

            “Ori.”

            Thrain and Dis both turned to Balin.

            “Ori would be perfect,” Balin clarified. “He is just about Master Baggins equivalent age, and he is quiet, kind, and pleasant. He’s knowledgeable of not only our customs but also our history … a subject I believe Master Baggins finds enjoyable. Also, he has no outside commitments to occupy his time.”

            “Really?” Dis asked with a cocked eyebrow.  "What about Dwalin?"

            Balin colored a tiny bit. “Their understanding is little more than casual at this point."

            "Rina has given her permission," Dis pointed out.  "I expect them to start properly courting when Dwalin returns."

            "Nothing is set in stone," Balin pointed out.

            “As yet,” Dis supplied, but Balin said no more.

            Thrain liked the idea. “And you think Ori would be willing to take on the task?”

            “I believe so,” Balin said. “He is loyal to the crown.”

            “That’s not what I meant,” Thrain said. “This isn’t a decree nor do I want to make it a command. Someone cannot be ordered to be friends. Ori should do it only if he wants to.”

            “Of course,” Balin nodded. “And once he realizes how important this is to you, I’m sure—”

            “Balin,” Thrain said. “You cannot guilt him into it either! That won’t do!”

            “Leave it to me,” Dis said as she stood and walked towards the door.

            “What are you going to do?” Thrain asked with a touch of worry in his voice.

            “Trust me, Father,” Dis with a smile over her shoulder as she left the room.

           

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            The Great Library was really just a large, dry cave that had been cleaned and shelves added. Frankly, Dis liked the rough look of the walls and the soft glow of the candles; oil lamps produced too much smoke and would cause a far more catastrophic fire should one fall over.   The shelves extended away from the central area like spokes of a wheel, which created triangular areas were studies could be done.

            However it was to the large, crescent-shaped ‘desk’ in the middle of the central area that Dis walked; and the elder scribe, Maser Hrak, sitting there.

            “Excuse me,” Dis said, attempting to garner the scribe’s attention.

            The scribe didn’t look up.

            “ _Excuse me_ ,” Dis said a little louder.

            No reply.

            Dis rapped on the desk, loudly, with her knuckles, earning her SHHHHH’s from many of the library’s patrons, but finally capturing the scribe’s attention.

            “Oh, Lady Dis!” The old Dwarrow said. “Can I assist you?”

            “I’m looking for Ori.”

            “What kind of story?”

 

            Dis shook her head. “No! O R I … Ori!”

            More SHHHHHH’s.

            When the old scribe just looked perplexed, Dis prayed to Mahal for patience and reached for a piece of paper. However, she needn't have bothered.

            “May I help you, milady?”

            Dis turned and found young Ori standing right behind her. “Thank the maker and his wife! I couldn’t get this old … _coot_ … to hear me!”

            Ori giggled. “He’s a bit hard of hearing.”

            “No kidding.”

            “Ah, Ori,” the old Dwarrow said, standing up. “Perhaps you could help the good Lady Dis find what she is looking for.”

            Ori dropped his voice to his deepest register. “My pleasure, Master Hrak.”

            The old scribe nodded and walked off, leaving an amused Ori and an irritated Dis behind.

            “How, _can I help you_ , milady?” Ori asked.

            Dis put on her game face. “I was wondering if you have a small tome explaining the traditions and ways of Durin’s Folk?”

            Ori’s eyes widened almost comically. “What you seek would fill several large ones, plus scrolls. There is no ‘small’ volume of our ways.”

            Dis put a convincing look of disappointment on her face.

            “May I ask why you seek such a tome?” Ori asked.

            Dis fought her smile; Ori was taking the bait. “It's for Master Baggins.”

            “Oh … I see.”

            “I thought it might be a nice welcoming present.”

            “It would …” Ori trailed off, giving Dis an apologetic look. “However, even if there was one small enough to give, they are all in Khuz-dul, not Westron.”

            “Hmmm. Well, I guess we could just send him here to study with Master Hrak.”

            Ori grimaced. “I don’t know if that would be the best option.” Ori pointed to his ears, clearly trying to remind Dis of Hrak’s limitations.

            “Of course,” Dis said in mock seriousness. “Mistress Freya perhaps.”

            Ori shook his head. “She is not usually the most patient with new students.”

            Dis nodded. “What about Gurat”

            “About the same.”

            “Trava?”

            “Dislikes foreigners.”

            “Movrik?”

            “Traditionalist. Won’t even show a Khuz-dul book to a non-Dwarrow, let alone teach its contents.”

            Dis huffed out an exaggerated sigh. “I guess Master Baggins will just have to ... _muddle through_.”

            “Hasn’t he already been taught the basics?”

            “No.”

            Ori looked surprised for a moment. “Maybe Prince Thorin and Dw—I mean, _Master Dwalin_ , will teach him some things.”

            Dis cocked an eyebrow. “Master Dwalin and my brother … teach Dwarrow manners and Court Etiquette?”

            Ori’s face contoured into horror at the thought. “I see your point.”

            “Well,” Dis said, throwing up her hands dramatically. “I guess we’ll just have to hope for the best.” Dis started to walk away, then threw over her shoulder. “What’s the worst that could happen, right?”

            Dis counted with each of her steps; 1 … 2 … 3 …

            “Wait!” Ori insisted.

            Dis turned around slowly and Ori walked forward; she waited for what she knew was coming.

            “Perhaps …” Ori said, slowly. “If you would like … I mean, I … I could help him.”

            Dis remained calm. “I’d hate to burden you so.”

            “Oh, it’s no burden, milady,” Ori stated quickly. “It’s just … well … do you think the King would approve of my assisting Master Baggins?  I mean ... I'm only an apprentice.”

            Dis smiled softly. “I think the King would be very impressed.”

            Ori smiled. “Oh … wonderful! Then I’d be glad to help!”

            “You are too kind, Ori,” Dis said, smiling broadly and planting a chaste kiss on the young scribe’s cheek. Ori blushed furiously but gave Dis a sheepish smile.

            Dis left after that. She was rather pleased with the outcome. In her opinion, the best way to get someone to do something, was to make him or her think it was their idea to begin with.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            “This can’t be the right way,” Thorin said, scratching his chin.

            Dwalin huffed out a growl. “How the hell could you get us lost? It’s open country?!”

            Thorin threw him a heated glare. “All these damn little gravel roads look the same!”

            “But they run through _open fields_! Not like there's a lot of traffic!”

            Thorin slammed the paper in his hands into Dwalin’s chest. “If you’re so smart, _you_ read the damn directions then!”

            Dwalin did just that and after a moment, rolled his eyes. “I told you we should have turned left after we passed that pub, and continued on around the lake!”

            Thorin looked displeased. “Well, it’s not my fault the whole place looks the same!”

            “Come on,” Dwalin said, turning his pony around and heading back; Thorin right behind him. They continued to snipe and grumble at each other; both tired and worn out from the journey and frankly, while not stated, both wanted little more than some hot food and an even hotter bath.

            The sun had set by the time they reached the white gate with the postbox marked ‘Baggins’ and the brightly lit green door beyond.

            “Finally,” Dwalin said.

            “Quit your griping,” Thorin dismounting.

            Dwalin followed and not a minute later, Thorin was knocking – no, pounding – on the front door of Bag End.  "You know," Dwalin said, with a smirk.  "You could've just rung the bell."

            Thorin ignored him.

            They stood back, waiting and listening. Seconds later, they heard the hurried patter of feet on wood and, without hesitation, the knob turned and light was spilling out of the entrance.

            “Hello!” Bilbo cried. “Thank goodness ... I was getting worried that you’d made a wrong turn and gotten lost!”

            “We did,” Dwalin growled out.

            Bilbo laughed with a bright smile. “Well, no harm done.” He looked at Dwalin, looked as if he were searching for something written on his face, then gave him a bow. However, when he turned to Thorin, Bilbo froze stood stock still, as if he’d been turned to stone. As the seconds ticked by, Thorin grew a tiny bit concerned, but then suddenly Bilbo shook himself all over, coming back from wherever his mind had wandered.

            “Are you alright?” Thorin asked gruffly.

            “Oh … yes,” Bilbo said, clearing his throat a few times but avoiding Thorin’s gaze for a minute. “Just … someone walking on my grave.”

            “What?!” Dwalin asked, shocked.

            “It’s just a phrase,” Bilbo said, clearing his throat again and giving Thorin a quick glance before turning away. “You must be hungry … please … come in, come in.”

            Thorin and Dwalin stepped in, each giving the other a look but saying nothing aloud.

            Bilbo held out his hand as the two removed their cloaks. “You must have had a long journey—”

            “Too long,” Dwalin shot out.

            “—your highness,” Bilbo finished, giving Dwalin a smile.

            Dwalin opened his mouth to correct Bilbo's mistake but the Hobbit turned quickly to Thorin.

            “And you must be Dwalin,” Bilbo said to Thorin.

            To Dwalin’s shock, Thorin said boldly, “Yes. Yes, I am .”

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is trouble in Bag End ... for both Thorin and Bilbo

* * *

 

 

           “Have you lost your _mind_?!” Dwalin hissed out through gritted teeth, as he and Thorin made to clean up. “What the _frig_ are you _doing_?!”

            After politely asking Thorin and Dwalin to remove their boots, Bilbo showed them the way to the guest washroom while he headed off to the kitchen, stating that he would whip up their supper in a trice. However, Dwalin used the opportunity to get Thorin to clarify his moronic decision in pretending to be each other.

            “Of course I haven’t lost my mind!” Thorin said quietly, entering the room. “The opportunity was too good to pass up!”

            “Opportunity for _what_?!” Dwalin demanded, washing his hands.

            “Information,” Thorin murmured, as he began to wash up after Dwalin. “He may well be … _less guarded_ _with his words_ with  _Dwalin, the guard_ , than he would be with,” Thorin pointed at Dwalin, “‘ _your highness’, Prince Thorin_.”

            Dwalin cocked an eyebrow. “Did it dawn on you to just … I don’t know … _ask_ him?”

            Thorin matched Dwalin’s look with one of his own. “Oh, sure … like he’d tell us his secret plans.”

            Dwalin shook his head, drying his hands. “And when he discovers the truth? When he works out you lied to him? What then?”

            “By the time that happens,” Thorin said, “I’ll know the truth.”

            Dwalin growled, rolling his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

            “Quiet,” Thorin snapped, punching Dwalin in the arm. “I think I hear him coming.”

            Bilbo’s footfalls could be heard approaching but before they reached the room, he called out, “Supper is ready when you gentleman are.”

            “Gentlemen,” Thorin sneered under his breath to Dwalin. “He’s not wasting time sucking up to us is he?”

            “Oh yeah,” Dwalin whispered dryly back. “Mahal forbid he should think us gentlemen.”

            Thorin chose to ignore Dwalin as he opened the door.

            Bilbo was standing about two metres away, patiently waiting for his guests. “If you’ll follow me,” Bilbo said brightly, “I’ll show you the way.”

            Thorin expected many things; too many vegetables and not enough meat, raw, nearly edible food, small portions, tiny cups of water, no ale, no wine, nothing impressive by any standard, let alone the standards of –

            Thorin had no words; the table was covered in food. There was steak, chicken and fish, plus he was sure there was pork; he could smell it, but not see it. There were bowls of potatoes, both baked and mashed with the skins, and plenty of butter. Platters of root vegetables; carrots, parsnips, and onions roasted with shallots. Dishes of green vegetables as well; green beans, spinach, cucumbers, courgettes and broccoli; the last soaked in cream. There was ale and wine, and cool pitchers of clear water, along with a jug of fresh milk.

            “Sorry, it’s not much,” Bilbo said. “But I wasn’t sure what you’d like so I kept to the basics.”

            Dwalin smiled. “If this is the basics, I’d love to see what you have for a special meal!”

            Bilbo laughed. “I’d need more preparation for that.”

            Dwalin and Thorin sat while Bilbo hurried to pour them drinks, ask each, “What would you like?” Dwalin choose ale, while Thorin had only a mug of water. Bilbo let them fill their plates themselves then said he had to check on desert.

            “Figures!” Thorin whispered hoarsely.

            “What figures?” Dwalin asked, his mouth full of fried fish.

            “This …” Thorin pointed his fork at the food-laden table.

            “What are you talking about?”

            “He said … ‘the basics.’ I bet these are nothing more than left-overs.”

            Dwalin fought to keep a neutral expression; he thought if he rolled his eyes one more time they’d fall out. Dwalin reached for the chicken. “I’ve an idea …”

            “What?”

            Dwalin placed a huge drumstick on Thorin’s plate. “Stick that in your mouth and be quiet.”

            Thorin looked at the chicken leg like it might still bite him. “You should watch yourself,” Thorin advised. “You might get sick off that stuff.”

            “What?!”

            Thorin nodded. “Bet you he hasn’t stored it properly.”

            “You’re daft.”

            “Oh yeah?” Thorin looked smug. “Then why isn’t he eating with us?”

            At that moment Bilbo walked in. “Well the cake is cooling. I hope you like sponge.”

            Dwalin slide a look to Thorin and then turned to Bilbo, asking, “Are you not eating, Master Baggins?”

            Thorin kicked Dwalin under the table, but Dwalin made no indication that he felt it or that he cared.

            “I ate earlier,” Bilbo said, pouring himself a mug of ale. “I wasn’t sure when you would end up arriving, so forgive me.”

            “It’s quite all right,” Dwalin said, turning a smug smile on Thorin. “Isn’t it … _Dwalin_?”  Thorin gave Dwalin a narrowed glare but Dwalin only smiled more broadly.  “Speaking of our arrival,” Dwalin said, giving Thorin another sideways glance. “How did you know when we would be arriving and how did you know our names?”

            Thorin glared at his cousin but didn’t say a word; his displeasure was evident on his face already.

            “Your sister,” Bilbo said to Dwalin; smiling.

            “Sister?” Thorin asked a little wide-eyed.

            Bilbo nodded and reached into his pocket. “The loveliest Raven showed up this morning.” Bilbo pulled out a small slip of parchment, which he showed to Thorin and Dwalin. “And she carried a letter from Lady Dis.”

            “Wait,” Thorin insisted. “’Loveliest raven?’”

            Bilbo nodded. “Yes! She was pure white! I’ve never seen a white raven before!”

            “Dezêb,” Dwalin said softly.

            “I’m sorry?” Bilbo clearly had no idea what the word was.

            “Dezêb,” Dwalin repeated. “That is the raven’s name. It means Diamonds.” Thorin threw Dwalin an incredulous look that spoke volumes of _‘Shut up now!’_ , but Dwalin just shrugged. “He’s going to pick-up a few words … there’s no way around it.”

            “I’m sorry, but,” Bilbo asked. “What does that mean? Pick up what words?”

            “Our language is secret,” Thorin ground out. “It’s not for outsiders to hear, let alone learn,” Thorin turned a hot glare at Dwalin, “ _your highness_!”

            Dwalin shrugged again and just continued eating.

            “What’s more interesting,” Thorin said, giving Bilbo a rather hard look, “Is why you called the bird lovely. She’s the meanest bird there is.”

            “Really?” Bilbo looked genuinely surprised. “She was very sweet to me.”

            “Impossible,” Thorin couldn’t believe it. “She’s only ever liked Dis.” Granted, Dez, as the bird was nicknamed, was Dis’ private bird, but the thing didn’t even like Dis’ boys. “She’d as soon peck out the eyes of a friend than submit to another other than her mistress.”

            “How odd,” Bilbo didn’t seem able to comprehend that. “She arrived and gave me the letter and then I offered her some of the fresh gorp I was mak—”

            “Gorp?!” Dwalin and Thorin both said in unison.

            Bilbo nodded. “It’s just a mix of roasted nuts, dried fruits and bits of honey candy. It’s wonderful on hikes and I thought that it would be nice to have some packs for our journey back to the mountains.”

            “So you _bought_ her affections,” Thorin murmured, even when Dwalin kicked him under the table.

            Bilbo blushed and said sheepishly and avoiding Thorin’s gaze, “That wasn’t my intention. I only thought to offer her food … it must have been a long flight from your halls to here.”

            Thorin looked disgruntled and Dwalin thought it best to change the subject. “What did the letter say, Master Baggins?”

            “Oh … yes,” Bilbo shook himself, but he was obviously more subdued. He opened the small, folded parchment and read, “ _Dear Master Baggins. I hope this letter finds you well. Although we haven’t met, I’d like to take his opportunity to welcome you into our family. We look forward to your arrival in the next few weeks. My sons wanted to come along to escort you, but they have lessons and training to complete before the winter arrives, so instead we have sent along our two best warriors; my brother, Crown Prince Thorin, and our cousin and Thorin’s personal guard, Dwalin, son of Fundin. If that last name sounds familiar to you, it should; Dwalin is the younger brother of Royal Adviser, Balin, who you met with my father. Thorin can be rather grumpy and Dwalin a little intimidating—”_

Thorin and Dwalin turned red, Thorin from irritation and Dwalin from amusement.

            _“—but they are skilled and brave warriors and have expressed a keen interest in meeting you and feel honored in bringing you safely to our king. Again, I wish you welcome and may your journey to us be swift and safe. Yours sincerely, Lady Dis, daughter of Thrain.“_

            There was silence for a long minute as Bilbo stored his letter away.

            “How kind of her,” Thorin said dryly.

            Bilbo swallowed, his cheeks a bit red. “Uhm … yes. It was … very kind of her.”

            Dwalin again kicked Thorin under the table but Thorin was fazed and the silenced stretched a bit longer until Bilbo broke it.

            “So …” Bilbo put on a what even Dwalin could see was a forced smile. “Would you care for more to eat?”

            “No.” Thorin said firmly, pushing his plate away.

            Thorin had barely touched a bite. It was obvious that Bilbo’s question had been little more than an attempt to lighten the mood, especially seeing how the table was still overflowing with food, but Thorin’s terse reply poured cold water over Bilbo’s effort.

            “Of course,” Bilbo forced another smile. “Perhaps you would like some tea or cake then?”

            “I’ve had enough,” Thorin said and made to stand. “I’m going to bed.”

            Dwalin sighed and stood himself. “I’m afraid we’ve had a long day,” Dwalin said.

            Bilbo nodded, his smile plastered on his face. “Naturally.” He stood too. “I’ll show you to your room.”

            Bilbo took them back the way they’d come from the washroom, to a room next to it in fact. There were two beds and a small fire was already burning in the hearth; the room warm and cozy. “If there is anything you … you need,” Bilbo said quietly. “Just … head straight down the main hall … the last door on the left is mine.” Bilbo looked at them both but his gaze only lingered on Thorin for a moment before his ears turned red and he backed out of the room quickly, closing the door behind him.

            Thorin huffed out a growl.

            “Now what?” Dwalin asked tiredly.

            “I can’t believe how we’ve … we’ve been treated!”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “Offered the dregs of his pantry, having to listen to him boost of his bribery of Dis’ raven like it was something to be celebrated, not to mention mistaken for each other … as if anyone of sound mind and reasonable intelligence could confuse us … and now, forced into one tiny room together! Did you see how many rooms we passed before he squashed in here? Yet we are to be housed in one room like two criminals in a jail cell!” Thorin turned when his queries received no reply, only to find that Dwalin had already stripped down and was laying in the far bed, his back to Thorin. “Are you even listening to me?”

            Dwalin sighed. “No. I’m sound asleep and unable to hear the dribble your spouting.”

            Thorin wanted to argue and discuss the situation more but he knew it was pointless. Like Dwalin, he stripped down and got into bed. But sleep didn’t find him so quickly in the comfy room. He found that his mind was swirling and his thoughts would not quiet. He was feeling so many things.

            Not the least of which was the sinking feeling that he was perhaps - maybe - quite possibly - overreacting. Not that he would admit that. He didn’t want Dwalin to think that he was correct, that Thorin was being an idiot.

            Just like he wouldn’t admit that a tiny part of him actually though Master Baggins was rather interesting.

            Mahal help him; he had an odd feeling he was in trouble.

 

\-----ooooo-----

           

            Bilbo was in trouble.

            When he had received the letter from his future ‘daughter-in-law’ – so odd to think of someone almost three times his age as his stepchild – he felt honored. To send the crown prince to escort him, him Bilbo Baggins, a simple Hobbit, was very touching. But that passed quickly when he realized that as Crown Prince, Thorin would expect a certain level of appropriate behavior. He was sure.

            He thought about accommodations; which were the best rooms to put them in? But he scrapped that idea of separating them. From what he’d learned, Dwarrow were very suspicious and wary of strangers, probably even of one that was going to marry into the family, which is why they didn’t travel alone.   Best to put them in one room so that they would feel more comfortable and be less edgy.

            Then he wondered about food. The letter didn’t say exactly when the two were arriving, so Bilbo had things on hand that could be made quickly and since he wasn’t sure what they would like, he stuck to the basics. Oh and made sure there was plenty of meat; Dwarrows liked a good deal of meat.

            He thought he had everything planned correctly for the prince.

            What he hadn’t planned for was the guard.

            Lady Dis’ letter didn’t give details of the two warriors beyond Thorin was _‘grumpy’_ and Dwalin a little _‘intimidating.’_ When he opened the door for them, so many things passed through his mind at once. He knew Balin was shorter than Thrain and that Thrain had a facial tattoo. The tall, grumpy one with the head tattoos had to be Thorin, while the slightly shorter, untattooed one – Balin had no tattoos – with the intimidating glare was clearly Dwalin. Granted, the taller one wasn’t dressed as finely as the shorter one; that did give Bilbo pause, but he remembered learning that traveling Dwarrow-dams often dressed as men for safety; Bilbo thought perhaps they had dressed disappropriately so as to hide the fact of who was royal and who was not. And besides, Balin wore robes of rich red and gold, so it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that his younger brother would wear rich blue and silver.

            With all these things in mind, he immediately concluded who was who.  Wasn't it obvious?

            However, none of these things could prepare Bilbo was what happened right there, on his doorstep, when he looked into the eyes of the royal guard and his heart sang.  In that moment, Bilbo realized painfully too late, that he was about to marry a king he knew perfectly well was not his other half, while knowing instantly and completely, that the dark-haired, blue-eyed guard was his soul-mate.

            Bilbo was in so much trouble.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuz-dul Translations:
> 
> Khagal'abbad – The Blue Mountains

* * *

 

            When Thorin woke the next morning, he too was beginning to doubt his suspicions. Nothing the Hobbit had – Thorin chided himself for a moment; _Baggins,_ he thought. _His name is Bilbo Baggins, not_ The Hobbit _!_

Nothing, _Bilbo_ had done had been truly insulting; yes, it still irked him that he and Dwalin where housed in one room, but that alone wasn’t enough to justify his rancor. He hadn't slept uncomfortably, he’d not gotten sick from what little he ate and just because Bilbo got on better with Dis’ bird than any other living being besides Dis herself, also didn’t mean that he necessarily deserved Thorin’s contempt.

            Still, there was the matter of the near-nonsensical marriage with his father. What could be the real reason for it? Why had Bilbo even agreed to it? Maybe he should just confess his real identity and ask Bilbo directly as Dwalin had suggested.

            What harm could it do?

            _He could lie._

            Thorin’s instinct wasn’t wrong, but Thorin was good at seeing through lies.

            _He could be better at hiding them._

            That could be true. Who knew what tricks Hobbits kept hidden.

            _You have to find the truth._

            Thorin took a deep breath and focused; the truth was what he came here to find. Regardless how ‘nice’ and ‘well-mannered’ Bilbo Baggins seemed, he couldn’t let that distract him from finding the truth.

            No. Best to stick with the plan. And keep _The Hobbit_ at arm’s length.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Bilbo was just being foolish.

            After a few hours of tossing and turning, Bilbo had finally fallen asleep. Granted, he’d a few unsettling dreams of strong arms attached to a furred torso, of dark hair and a soft beard, of blue eyes and deep kisses, the kind which curled ones toes and made one – all right, so he had awaken once in the night to clean himself up from a rather vivid wet-dream, but what was he to do? It wasn’t like he could control his dreams for heaven’s sake! And they were just that, dreams.

            Given how the Warrior-Guard had reacted, it was clear, even in the dark of night that only Bilbo felt the pull.

            The Pull.

            Bilbo nearly laughed at himself. He’d always believed it was a fairy-story, something made up to fuel the romantic notions that Hobbits seemed to have inbred; so as to have bigger families, he told himself. Even when his mother claimed to have experienced the same thing; _‘It was like the whole world stilled and your father was the only real thing in it.’_ Bilbo’s father has laughed though, he said that he had had quite a different reaction; _‘Terror! There was Belladonna Took, the most fiercely beautiful girl in all The Shire, staring at me … at ME … simple, old Bungo Baggins! Of course I felt absolute terror!’_

You see, Bungo’s reaction was far more typical of Hobbits. Hobbits didn’t feel The Pull like Elves or Dwarrow. They fell in love quietly, gently, over time, over walks and tea, over shared experiences and food. This notion of being struck like lightning on a clear day was laughable.

            And yet, the tale that sometimes, _sometimes_ , a Hobbit would meet their Soulmate and know, instantly, completely and without doubt, that the person before them was the only one they could ever, truly love remained a tale that most hoped to experience some day.

            Well, it was a fantasy.

            It had to be.  

            Bilbo must have just been tired, that’s all. Just because Bilbo could almost feel the guard’s breath upon his neck; particularly taste bearded kisses; swear he could hear his name whispered hotly in a deep voice, didn’t mean a thing.

            Nothing at all.

            It was all a delusion.

            Yes, that was it.

            Bilbo got up, washed, dressed and made his bed. He made his way to the kitchen and started making breakfast. He stood at the stove, humming to himself, totally normal, absolutely fine, telling himself that he was foolish and there was nothing in the world connecting him to the brutishly handsome guard. No mythical connection, no predestined attraction, no intertwining of souls and hearts.

            None of that rubbish.          

            “Master Baggins.”

            Bilbo whirled around and there stood the guard, beautiful in his rugged manner and masculine demeanor, and Bilbo’s heart yearned and ached and beat faster and there was truly no denying the longing within him.

            _Oh, Yavanna, help me!_

            Bilbo was indeed being a fool.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            It amused Thorin if he were honest. On the road, Dwalin would wake at the snap of a twig, but give him a comfy bed in a secure location and a goblin attack wouldn’t wake him. Thorin had gotten up, used the washroom next door, come back in, brushed his hair and beard, redid his braids, finished dressing completely and still Dwalin slept like the dead.

            Thorin exited the room finally and slowly made his way through the house. He had to admit, while it wasn’t his taste necessarily, the Hobbit’s Hole – _Smail_ , he reminded himself, _it’s called a Smail_ – was well kept and filled with beautiful, yet practical things. Bookcases with book on a verity of subjects, reading being one hobby he apparently shared with his host, and finely made furniture and obviously hand-made linens.

            It dawned on Thorin that he hadn’t anticipated moving anything.   If the Hobbit wanted to take even a few of the larger items, they’d need a wagon – two possibly – to get it all to his father’s halls in Khagal'abbad.

            As he continued through the Smail, he heard humming; clearly his host was awake. Following the sound, he found the Hobbit standing in the kitchen, obviously preparing breakfast. Thorin silently admired the way the Hobbit moved about the place, not unlike a warrior moving about his opponent; graceful, yet each move was precise and exact. Elegant really. Beautiful in its –

            Thorin shook his head. _Enough of those thoughts._

            “Master Baggins.”

            The poor thing whirled around and stood wide-eyed, staring at Thorin like he was a mirage.

            “My apologies,” Thorin said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” Bilbo didn’t say anything for a minute, just as he had done the day before when he first met Thorin, and Thorin once again felt something was odd.

            Then Bilbo blinked.

            “Of course, you didn’t,” Bilbo said with a small laugh, turning away from Thorin. “Would you like some … some breakfast, Master Dwalin?”

            For a second Thorin almost corrected Bilbo but then, “Yes.”

            Bilbo nodded, quickly making a plate up and placing it in front of Thorin.

            “Thank you,” Thorin said, sitting down at the kitchen table as Bilbo nodded and poured Thorin a cup of strong tea.

            Bilbo made a plate for himself and sat on the opposite side of the table from Thorin, but kitty-corner so that neither was looking directly at the other.

            Thorin ate gladly; he’d hardly ate the night before and reluctantly admitted, if just to himself, he was hungry!   The Hobbit had made soft-boiled eggs, thick toast from a rich, dark bread, sausages, potatoes and grilled tomatoes; nothing fancy but well made.

            “This is, uhm …” Thorin said, swallowing. “This is very good.” It was, but Thorin told himself that he was just trying to get on the Hobbit’s good side, not trying to be nice really.

            “I’m glad to hear that,” Bilbo said, taking a sip of tea but not looking at Thorin. “You didn’t seem to like what was served last night—”

            Thorin mentally kicked himself.

            “—so, I’m happy to hear that breakfast is more to your liking.”

            Thorin quickly drink some tea and swallowed. “I was … tired and not in the best of moods.” _Reign it in, boy, if you want him to talk._ “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

            “Oh, I wasn’t offended,” Bilbo added very quickly, giving Thorin a worried look. “I was more concerned than anything else.”

            Despite what his goal was, Thorin felt a pang of guilt there. He pushed it away. “I’m fine.”

            “Of … of course,” Bilbo said.

            They both went back to their meal, though each seemed to loose a bit of appetite.

            “Anything left?” Dwalin asked coming into the kitchen. “Or has … _Dwalin_ … eaten it all?” Dwalin slapped Thorin on the back.

            Thorin threw his cousin a dark look but Dwalin just smirked at him.

            “There is plenty still, your highness,” Bilbo said, abandoning what little was left on his plate and quickly standing to fill another plate for Dwalin.

            “To be honest, Master Baggins …” Dwalin said, giving a sideways glance to Thorin.

            Thorin stilled; was Dwalin going to expose him! Here! At the breakfast table?!

            “… you needn’t bother with all that ‘Your Highness’ business with us.” Dwalin’s smirk grew as Thorin’s scowl deepened.

            Bilbo chuckled, oblivious to Thorin fuming and Dwalin’s teasing. “In that case, I insist that you call me Bilbo … both of you. After all, are we not going to be closely related?”

            “Indeed we are,” Dwalin said, raising an eyebrow at Thorin, basically challenging Thorin to countermand him.

            Thorin said nothing.

            The remainder of the meal was passed in silence, with Bilbo cleaning up as the other two finished. Bilbo stated he had some last minute business to attend to and left Thorin and Dwalin alone.

            “What is wrong with you?” Thorin demanded as soon as the front door closed behind Bilbo.

            “Me?” Dwalin laughed, kicking back in front parlour’s window seat.

            “Getting all flirty with the Hobbit!”

            “I wasn’t getting flirty!”

            “What have you.”

            “You know, you need to get your hammer off your anvil and work at getting to know him better. He isn’t a bad sort.”

            “You don’t know that.”

            “And you do?”

            “We have a mission to complete!”

            “So you keep saying.”

            “Well?”

            “Well, what? Have you discovered anything worthy of mistrust? Anything nefarious? Dishonest?  Clearly we didn’t die from food poisoning, so I think it’s safe to say he's not a bad sort.”

            “Even an enemy will feed you if they think you can be of use.”

            “An enem … have you lost your mind?”

            Thorin huffed, stomping about the room. “Just … keep your distance from him.”

            When Dwalin didn’t respond, Thorin turned to him, expecting an answer or even a rude gesture, but instead found Dwalin staring at him with a narrow gaze.

            “What’s wrong with you?” Dwalin asked slowly; quietly.

            Thorin felt uncomfortable suddenly. “Nothing’s wrong with me!”

            Dwalin looked Thorin up and down. “Yes there is.”

            “You’re delusional.”

            “No … I’m not. There is something you’re not telling me. I know you, Thorin, don’t—”

            “You’re wrong!”

            Dwalin just stared, and Thorin could feel sweat break out on his neck. “Right. Sure,” Dwalin said, but didn’t lower his eyes.

            Thorin felt himself squirm inside. “Look … just drop this and—”

            The front door opened suddenly.

            “All done!” Bilbo said cheerfully, coming in and wiping his feet on the mat. He turned around and stopped, looking from Dwalin to Thorin. “Is everything all right?”

            Thorin felt his cheeks color and turned away quickly. “Everything is fine.” He made a play at look about the room. “We were just … just wondering how many wagons you will need.”

            “Wagons?” Bilbo asked.

            “Yes.” Thorin said tersely, turning back around. “You can’t possibly think we'll fit armchairs, clocks, books, beds and or tables on the back of the ponies, did you?”

            Bilbo looked confused. “Of course not, but then, why would I need to bring anything like that?”

            Thorin was a bit taken aback.

            So was Dwalin, apparently, when he asked, “You don’t want to take anything with you?”

            Bilbo looked between the two Dwarrow again. “I planned on bring a few books; my parent’s journals and writings, and the quilt in their … in _my bedroom_ , but that is it.”

            “That’s it?” Thorin gestured to the room and the house at large. “You’re just going to leave the rest behind?”

            Bilbo nodded. “Everything here belonged to … I mean … it _belongs with_ the house.” Both Dwarrow sat gaping at Bilbo. “Besides,” Bilbo continued, turning to Dwalin. “It would be rather rude of me to strut into your father’s halls, bring lace dollies and fancy china and expensive fabrics when so many of the Dwarrow have so little; it would like rubbing their misfortunes in their faces.”

            Thorin hadn't expected that answer. He’d never even thought of it and yet, how extraordinary for Bilbo to be so –

            “That’s right considerate of you, Master Baggins,” Dwalin said, turning a hot, pointed look in Thorin’s direction. “Don’t you agree, _Dwalin_?”

            “Yes,” Thorin said, softly. He actually did agree.

            “And it’s Bilbo,” Bilbo pointed out gently. “Remember?”

            Thorin nodded. “I do remember … Bilbo.”

            Bilbo brightened at Thorin’s use of his name, stating that he was going to put some tea on and would have it ready in just a few minutes. He gave Thorin a smile as he passed.

            “Tell me,” Dwalin whispered, coming up beside Thorin. “How does it feel to lie?”

            “I’m not lying,” Thorin said. “I just haven’t … corrected Bilbo.” It was cold comfort but Thorin took it.

            Dwalin nodded. “I wasn’t talking necessarily about Bilbo.”

            Thorin turned, confused.

            “You’re lying to yourself, Thorin,” Dwalin clarified. “And no matter what you say, I can feel it.”

            Thorin could feel it too. He just refused to acknowledge it.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any typos? please let me know


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am basing Hobbit Culture on the English 19th Century ... basically. Please do not feel that I agree with women being second class citizens! 
> 
> There is a reason I am making them so ... narrow minded.

* * *

 

            By the end of the day, Bilbo had collected and packed all the items he intended to take with him in the morning. Six books - his mother’s two memoirs of her adventures prior to meeting Bungo, her diary that recounted her courtship and marriage, Bungo’s logbook detailing his designing and building Bag End, Bungo’s personal chronicle, where he wrote of his love of his wife and son, and Bilbo’s own diary, only half of which was filled – the quilt that had been made by Belladonna, and a few of his newest clothes so that he would not arrive with only the clothes on his back.  Almost a little sadly, it all fit into two bags sitting on the Parlour rug.

            “That’s all you want to take?” Thorin asked once more, looking down at the leather rucksack and saddlebag that Bilbo used for his items.

            “I also have some provisions,” Bilbo said, pointing to a small bag they could all see sitting on the kitchen table. “A few bags of Gorp, some hardtack … my mother’s own recipe I might add, and of course, coin. Just in case.”

            “I just mean …” Thorin still couldn’t believe it. “You really don’t want to take—”

            “That’s all I need,” Bilbo said softly.

            “What about everything else?” Thorin didn’t understand; his father and Balin had discussed how important family was to Hobbits and yet Bilbo was leaving everything behind him.

            “As I said, it goes with the house,” Bilbo stated, releasing a steady breath and then laughed. “Besides, no need for the new owner to be given an empty shell.”

            “And who is the new owner?” Dwalin asked.

            “Well,” Bilbo shrugged, turning to Dwalin. “I discussed it with my grandfather—”

            “The Thain,” Thorin said and Bilbo nodded.

            “—and I want it to go to my cousin.”

            “Not one of your siblings?” Thorin was a little shocked.

            Bilbo looked at him somberly. “I’m an only child.”

            Thorin was taken aback, so was Dwalin if Thorin read his face correctly. “I thought Hobbits had large families?” Thorin asked.  True, they had not seen or met any siblings but he just figured they were married and lived elsewhere.

            “Most do,” Bilbo said, avoiding looking at either Dwarrow. “But my second cousin on my father’s side, Drogo Baggins, is as close to me as a brother so, in that way, it’s only fair that he get Bag End.”

            Thorin was still a little confused but nodded.

            “Does he have a great number of children?” Dwalin asked.

            “No, but …” Bilbo said. “He is hoping to marry my first cousin on my mother’s side, Primula Brandybuck, by the end of next summer and they have both talked of having a large family, so … again … Bag End would be perfect for them.”

            “You never had a desire for a family of your own?” Thorin asked, watching Bilbo carefully.

            Bilbo gave Thorin an incredulous look. “Ah … no. I would think … _which side my bread was buttered_ would be obvious!” Bilbo released a self-deprecating laugh. “I am about to marry your King.”

            Both Dwarrow just looked at Bilbo as if he’d gone insane.

            “Clearly a family is impossible,” Bilbo stated.

            Thorin just stared and Dwalin shrugged his shoulders, saying, “With Dwarrow, two males usually will contract with a female who does not wish to marry or desire a family, to have children for them.”

            “Or they may raise children from within their family,” Thorin stated.

            “Or take in children from a family that is too large,” Dwalin said, “but cannot financially care for them all.”

            “They might even adopt,” Thorin added.

            “Although,” Dwalin tacked on, “adoption is rare, as orphans usually go to relatives first.”

            Now Bilbo looked stunned. “I had … no idea.”

            “We know male couples are rare in The Shire,” Dwalin said.

            “Rare?” Bilbo laughed; a hollow sound. “Try impossible.”

            “You mean it’s illegal?” Thorin asked.

            “Not … illegal,” Bilbo said. “Just ... not done. Period. Who would marry them?”

            “Are you saying that ..” Dwalin asked incredulous. “That the couple would be refused?” Bilbo nodded. “Regardless of whether there is love and affection between them?!”

            “It’s considered unseemly,” Bilbo clarified. “Hobbits marry for one thing; procreation. Yes, most also marry the one they love, but there is also family connections, social standing, continuation of the family name and financial security … especially since only married women and widows may own property.”

            Both Dwarrow looked disgusted.

            “What?”

            "For Dwarrow," Dwalin said, "We love beautiful things.  Therefore, most marriages are based on love and affection."  Dwalin shrugged.  "Well, except for alliance marriages," Dwalin gestured towards Bilbo.

            “Wait a minute," Thorin asked, stopping the other two.  "Only _married women and widows_ can own property?  Your women have … no rights?!”

            “Uhm … I wouldn’t say …” Bilbo stammered, clearly trying to counter Thorin’s argument. He lost. “I guess … yes.   You’re correct. And really a married woman's property is co-owned by her husband.”

            “Mahal wept,” Dwalin cursed under his breath.

            “Can you imagine,” Thorin said, turning to his cousin, “If someone told Dis that she only had rights if she were married or a widow.”

            “She is widowed,” Dwalin pointed out.

            “Not my point,” Thorin stated. “Imagine _before_ she was married!”

            Dwalin shuttered at the thought. “Yeah … I’d pay good coin to see that, then.”

            “Does this mean all your women have the right to vote as well?” Bilbo asked enthusiastically.

            As un-warrior like as the gesture was, Dwalin could only gape at Bilbo’s question.

            “Your women can’t even vote?!” Thorin demanded.

            “Well …” Bilbo colored at that. “Those that own property outright.”

            “They can only vote if they own property?"  Thorin shook his head, unbelieving.  "So just the married, widowed or inhieriting women vote?”

            “No,” Bilbo said. “Just Widowed property owners. A Married woman would have a husband, so he would vote ...”

            “I don’t believe this,” Dwalin said.

            “… and women can’t inherit,” Bilbo finished.

            “What?!” Thorin thundered.

            Bilbo nodded as if it was obvious. “Land only passes to the oldest male descendant.”

            “But what if a woman is the eldest?”

            Bilbo shrugged. “It will still go to the eldest son ... even if he is younger than his sisters.”

            Dwalin just shook his head.

            “And what if there are no sons?” Thorin asked.  "What happens to the land then?"

            “It will pass to the closest male relative of the land owner,” Bilbo answered and then put up a hand to hold any questions. “Unless there is a will stating a _particular_ male relative.”

            "Which I bet would be challanged, and most likely won by the petitioner." Dwalin smugged.

            Bilbo just nodded.

            “And if someone wished to will land to a daughter or female relative instead?” Thorin asked.

            “Never happen,” Bilbo said emphatically. “The only time someone would do that is if there were no male relatives … which is almost laughable in The Shire ... and the female in question was married and the land was to be part of their current estate.”

            “Which would be co-owned,” Thorin said, “by the woman’s husband.”

            “Correct,” Bilbo said, obviously glad the Dwarrow were getting it.

            "And if there is no married female?"  Thorin asked, dreading the answer.

            "Then the land would be sold at auction." Bilbo just shrugged.

            "Even if there was an unmarried female," Thorin demanded, "the land would still be sold?"

            Bilbo nodded.

            "But she'd be left destitute!" Thorin said.

            "She could live off the kindness of relatives," Bilbo stated.

            "And if her relatives were _unkind_?" Thorin asked.

            Bilbo didn't answer; no need - the woman in question would indeed be left destitute.

            Thorin and Dwalin exchanged a quick, dark look before Dwalin said to Bilbo, “You're in for a culture shock, Master Hobbit.”

            Bilbo nodded slowly. “So I am gathering. Is it safe for me to assume Dwarrow do it differently?”

            Both Dwarrow smirked and Thorin said, “We’ll allow the good Lady Dis to explain it to you.”

            Dwalin laughed and Thorin just shook his head. Bilbo looked a little worried at that, but Thorin thought it best that Dis be the one to educate Bilbo in the ways of Dwarrowdams.  May Yavanna protect him.

            “So …” Bilbo said at long last, changing the subject. “Do either of you want Supper or would you rather just have a light snack?” He’d already learned that the Dwarrow, while able to put away huge quantities of food, only did so three times a day. Hobbit may eat even a little more than Dwarrow, but the amount was spread easily over the all seven meals.

            “Tea and maybe a small bowl of that stew we had at lunch,” Thorin said. “If there is any more, that is.”

            “There is,” Bilbo added quickly. “And for you, Thorin?” Bilbo waited but when Dwalin didn’t answer he looked confused. “Thorin? Hello?”

            Dwalin shook himself. “Sorry. Lost in thought. I’ll just have … uhm … just, some of your biscuits.”

            Bilbo laughed. “What is it with you and my biscuits? You’ve plowed through all my reserves!”

            “Sorry,” Dwalin said, not sounding the least bit sorry.

            “Oh, no,” Bilbo stated, heading out of the parlour. “We needed to eat them up. I’m just surprised! I had no idea Dwarrow had such a sweet tooth! Or is it just you?”

            “He’s just particularly, _sweet_ ,” Thorin said, giving Dwalin a smirk.

            Bilbo laughed again. “That’s okay. I will remember that for when we arrive back in The Blue Mountains!”

            Bilbo bustled about in the kitchen as Dwalin and Thorin made sure that their packs were readied for the morning. The conversation about leaving revived as they sat around the dining table.

            “Will the market be open tomorrow morning?” Dwalin asked.

            “It will,” Bilbo answered, “But not before mid-morning.”

            “Right,” Dwalin said.

            “I had the feeling you both wanted to leave very early.”

            “There is no rush,” Dwalin said.

            “We shouldn’t dally,” Thorin added.

            “An hour or so won’t matter,” Dwalin said. “Not when the journey is a fortnight.”

            “Still,” Thorin insisted. “The quicker we start, the quicker _it ends_.” He gave a look to Dwalin, hoping his cousin got his meaning; the end to their mission.

            Dwalin ignored Thorin, and politely asked Bilbo, “Perhaps you will be in need of something particular from the market tomorrow, Master Baggins?”

            Bilbo gave Dwalin a cocked eyebrow. “It’s Bilbo, and no … I thought about bringing presents, but—”

            “Presents?” Thorin asked, almost choking.

            Bilbo nodded. “For Lady Dis, her sons and for his Majesty, of course. But I wasn’t sure what to bring and I feared bringing anything inappropriate, so I will wait and make it up to them at the wedding.”

            “At the wedding?” Dwalin asked.

            Again, Bilbo nodded. “Of course. When I give out the wedding gifts.”

            “But you'll  _get_ gifts at a wedding.” Thorin stated.

            “The guests do, yes.”

            “No,” Thorin said firmly. “Guests _give_ gifts; not get.”

            Bilbo blinked a few times. “Another cultural shock.”

            “You mean,” Dwalin said, “the couple give gifts at the wedding?”

            “Well,” Bilbo rocked his head from side to side. “There are gifts given to the couple, that's true, but usually only from the immediate families and those gifts are necessities for starting a new life together; sheets, towels, pots and pans, plants, a cow possibly, a goat or two for sure … maybe a cat if they have a farm … a dog perhaps … but the other guests get gifts for coming.”

            Dwalin shook his head. “As if a free meal and merry making weren’t enough … gifts too.” He just looked at Thorin and chuckled.

            “Most, if not all,” Thorin said. “of the populace of Thrain's Halls will turn out for the wedding of their king; you do realize that?”

            Bilbo slowly nodded. “I had thought about that.”

            “You can’t possibly buy gifts for everyone,” Thorin said.

            “True,” Bilbo said. “But my plan was to give gifts to only the immediate royal family. As for others and the general populace, I was hoping to make special Hobbit dishes ... my best of course ... so if I help out in the kitchens early, then—”

            “You can’t work in the kitchens!” Thorin said, huffing out a laugh as if the idea was pure fantasy. “You’re the consort!”

            Bilbo bristled at that. “What does _that_ have to do with anything?”

            “You aren’t some kitchen maid!” Thorin stated. “You can’t possibly think we’d allow you—”

            “Allow me?!” Bilbo puffed up like an adder.

            “What he means—” Dwalin didn’t get to finish.

            “YOU WILL NOT WORK IN THE KITCHENS!” Thorin shouted, standing up.

            “AND WHO ARE YOU TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO?!” Bilbo yelled back, standing himself and fisting his hands on his hips.

            “AS A MEMBER OF THE ROYAL FAMILY, I CAN—”

            “AS A MEMBER, _MYSELF_ , I WILL DO AS I PLEASE!”

            “YOU EVEN TRY, AND—”

            “AND WHAT?!”

            “I’LL …” Thorin stammered. “… I’ll … PUT YOU OVER MY KNEE AND—”

            “YOU DO AND YOU’LL PULL BACK A BLOODY STUMP!”

            “DON’T THREATEN ME … _HALF-LING_!”

            Bilbo gasped and then his eyes narrowed. “Don't you _ever_ call me ‘half-ling’, again, you insolent, smug, arrogant SOD! I’m not _half_ of anything … you … you … _Second-Born_!”

            Thorin snarled and almost spit. “FUCK YOU!”

            Bilbo folded his arms across his chest and snapped, “Not even if you were the last man in the world,”

            “I am DURIN'S OWN!" Thorin said, doing the same and glaring at Bilbo. "I am no Man!"

            “You can say that again!” Bilbo stormed out of the dining room, stomped down the hall and slammed what Thorin was sure was the master bedroom door.

            Thorin slumped back down, taking deep, noisy breaths until he calmed.

            “Smooth,” Dwalin said quietly, shaking his head and rolling his eyes, although Thorin couldn’t see the last.

            Thorin swallowed and sighed, turning to Dwalin. “I think I pissed him off.”

            Dwalin just raised an eyebrow. “No shit.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SECOND-BORN ... i needed to think of an insult against the Dwarrow that was on par with 'Half-Ling' for Hobbits. Since I'm sure being born 'second' to the Elves, that would irk the Dwarrow to no end.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to leave for his new life ... but he can't get away that easily ... not if someone can help it

* * *

 

 

            Bilbo was incensed! 

            _How dare that great oaf ... that lummox ... that sodding, stubborn ... broody, growling, pig-headed ... snarky, snarling, bossy..._

            Bilbo stomped about his room, pacing back and forth, holding onto his head like it would pop off; he had such a headache. He wanted to slap that – that son of a –

            _I don’t care how sexy his arse is ... just who in the name of all that was green and good, does that ..._ DWARF _, think he is to tell me..._

            Bilbo's head thumped along with his anger as his stomach rolled and churned -- Bilbo had to stop and simply breathe because he was beginning to feel dizzy; like he was going to throw-up! After a few minutes he headed to the medicine closet to see what he had. He mixed a bit of powdered White-Willow bark with water and drank the bitter mixture down. But half an hour later, he still had no relief.  

            _Maybe my stomachache is actually the cause of the headache and not the other way around._

He returned to the medicine closet for more remedies. Yet, regardless of how much apple vinegar he drank or mint leaves he chewed, nothing took away his stomach pains and his headache would not let up.

            He finally conceded defeat. He was exhausted. He turned down his bed, undressed and climbed in between the cool sheets; they felt good but they too offered no relief for his pains.

            For the remainder of the night, he tossed and turned. He got no real sleep, only napping off and on as he rolled about restlessly.

            Yet when he did close his eyes, he dreamed. Sometimes he was alone and wandering a darkened, cavernous hall, with ceilings so high that Bilbo could barely see them. He was driven to seek something -- or _someone_ \-- but he couldn't find them and he despaired. Other times, he was laying in the grass, the sun warm and the breeze gentle and somewhere near was another, someone who was warm and loving, who would nuzzle Bilbo's ear and speak in a rich voice, whispering words that Bilbo could not understand, but knew they were words of love and affection.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            Bilbo was obviously not returning to the dining room.

            Not five minutes after Bilbo exited, Thorin stated he’d lost his appetite and felt unwell. As Thorin retreated to their shared guest room, Dwalin sighed and proceeded to clean up the remains of their meager supper; it would not do to leave the dishes for Bilbo, who was obviously angry, to finish in the morning.

            After a quick wash himself and readying for bed, Dwalin quietly entered the guest room to find Thorin curled up in the furthest bed, facing away from door. Thorin appeared to be sleeping but if the occasional moan and sudden jerky movements were any indication, he was actually distressed.

            “Thorin?” Dwalin whispered loudly, placing a hand on his cousin’s shoulder and giving a subtle squeeze.

            Thorin didn’t respond.

            “Thorin,” Dwalin said firmly with a small shake.

            Thorin made an indeterminate sound but still didn’t turn.

            “Thorin!” Dwalin demanded, giving Thorin a hardy shake and nearly pulling Thorin onto his back.

            Thorin groaned, barely opening his eyes, and breathed out, “What?”

            “You all right?”

            “I'm fine.”

            “Yeah, you're real ' _fine_.'”

            “Go to bed.” Thorin’s eyes closed again and he rolled away, facing the wall once more.

            “What’s _wrong_?”

            “Nothing," Thorin grumbled. "Tired.”

            _Like hell,_ Dwalin thought, but Thorin released a low grunt, rolled into a ball and pulled the covers over himself.   Dwalin decided to let it ride.

            For the night anyway.

 

\-----oooooOOOOO88888OOOOOooooo-----

 

            When he woke in the morning, Thorin was better. Granted, the thought of food turned his stomach, the room spun a bit when he moved and his mind was a little foggy. But his headache was reduced; it only throbbed instead of pounded.

            _That constituted being better. Right?_

Well, it did in Thorin's book.

            Gently rolling to one side, Thorin slowly swung his legs off the bed and sat up. There was a momentary feeling of dizziness, but it passed and Thorin was convinced it was clearly due to his not having eaten. Not that he was planning on eating.

            First thing he noticed was that Dwalin was not there, nor was Dwalin’s pack. The bed had been stripped and the mattress rolled up to the head of the bed.

            Time to go.

            Thorin stretched, his back cracked and the blood pounded in his ears but that passed like the dizziness. He'd slept in his clothes, but didn’t care; normally he’d clean up but he was in no mood for a wash.

            Sighing, he moved to the bath chamber next door and assessed himself. His eyes were reddened and he had dark circles under them; as if he needed physical reminding of his poor sleep. His hair was a mess, but like washing up, he didn't care. He pulled his braids out, stowing his clasps in a pocket. He relieved himself in the copper chamber pot, then, poured the remaining water in the stoneware pitcher into the matching basin. The basin was nearly deep enough for Thorin to submerge most of his head, which he did. The cold water attacked his nerves and revived him, if only a bit. Thorin worked some of the water through his hair, massaging his scalp in the process; it didn’t help his headache though. Finally, coming up for air, he scrubbed his face with his wet hands and once more ran them through his hair to remove excess water.

            By the time he returned to the room, his bed had been stripped and the mattress rolled like the other one.  He removed a large hair clip from his pack and pulled his hair into a loose, low ponytail at the nap of his neck; he would be traveling all day, who was he going to meet that would care about how he looked?

            He certainly didn't care anyway.

            Slinging his pack over his shoulder, he made his way out of the room and down the hall. His steps were heavy and loud even to himself, but try as he might, he just couldn’t summon the energy to lift his feet anymore than he was. As he passed the front entry, he saw the front door was open, bright sunlight – too bright sunlight – was pouring in.

            _Where the hell was Dwalin? Or ... or the damn Hobbit for that matter?_

            No sooner had he thought it than Bilbo came out of the kitchen, nearly colliding with Thorin, and both came up short, stepping back and stiffening. Neither said a word and Bilbo's glare was pointed and hot yet guarded and unreadable at the same time. Thorin was sure his was no better.

            “Finally awake,” Dwalin said, coming out of the kitchen a second later.

            Thorin nodded once but said nothing.

            “You’ve missed breakfast,” Bilbo said as he finally moved passed Thorin.

            “I’m not hungry,” Thorin lied.

            “Good,” Bilbo said, not turning.

            “When do we leave?” Thorin asked Dwalin. He wanted to get started on the road.

            “As soon as we load up the ponies,” Dwalin said. Their rides had been grazing in the field just behind Bag End since the first night. Both had realized, in horror, on their second morning that they’d dismounted and forgotten to care for their steeds, but Bilbo told them not to worry, he’d already anticipated such a thing and hired his neighbor, Hamfast Gamgee, to care for the two ponies.   “They are outside and ready."

            “The sooner we get started,” Thorin said, “The sooner we can get home.”

            Dwalin agreed. “Master Baggins!” Dwalin called out.

            “Yes?” Bilbo said, coming out of the kitchen; he’d circled back through the parlour.

            “Are you ready?”

            Bilbo stood for a second, drew a deep breath and sighed, nodding. “Yes. Just give me a moment.” Bilbo reentered the kitchen but returned a moment later with three large parcels. “These are for you both.” Handed two of the packages to Dwalin and Thorin; one each.

            Opening his, Thorin saw that it was filled with a mixture of roasted nuts, oats and seeds, dried fruits and bits of what looked like hardened candies made of honey. “I’m not hungry,” Thorin said, thrusting the bag back at Bilbo.

            Rather than take the bag, Bilbo scowled in return. “It’s for later!”

            “I don’t usually eat on the road,” Thorin insisted, still holding out the bag.

            “Fine!” Bilbo spat out but didn’t take the package back. “You can just chuck it.” Bilbo said, attaching his own bag to his belt. “Like you do every thing else I’ve offered you!” Bilbo stomped off for the front door.

            Thorin stood there, frozen to the spot. The Hobbit’s words were like a steely knife to his gut and he felt his stomach roll, but it wasn’t from hunger or nausea.

            “Just take the damn bag,” Dwalin hissed out as he made to follow Bilbo out.

            Thorin nodded. Honestly he hadn’t meant an insult—he hadn’t. He truly wasn’t hungry and he didn’t eat while on the road; it was just a thing with him. But he did as Dwalin said and stowed the parcel of Gorp in his pack, then walked to the front door.

            Thorin exited, finding Dwalin tying his pack to his pony. Bilbo, however, only stood on the front steps, looking at Bag End, not saying a word.

            “Is there a problem?” Thorin asked. It was meant honestly, but with the pain in his head and guilt in his stomach, it came out rougher than he'd planned.

            “Do you care?” Bilbo said, not looking away from his home.

            Thorin puffed up and wanted to argue, but found he could not. “If there is a something wrong, we are here to hel—”

            “I’m _fine_ ,” Bilbo said, cutting Thorin off and stepping forward to close Bag End’s front door; locking it as it closed completely. Slinging his two packs over each shoulder, Bilbo started down the stairs.

            “Where is your mount?” Thorin asked as he followed.

            “What mount?” Bilbo asked, not turning around.

            “Your pony,” Thorin clarified. “Do you stable it elsewhere?”

            “I don’t have a pony,” Bilbo stated, cocking an eyebrow at Thorin as they went through the front gate.

            “What do you mean you have no pony?” Thorin demanded.

            “How do you expect to get to the Blue Mountains?” Dwalin asked quietly.

            “Walk of course,” Bilbo shrugged; wasn’t his mode of transport obvious?

            “You can’t walk!” Thorin huffed out an incredulous laugh.

            Bilbo turned and shot another hot glare at Thorin. “Is this another _ridiculous_ rule because I’m joining the royal family?!” Bilbo had both hands on his hips, his demand of an answer clear in his body language.

            Thorin opened his mouth, an indignant retort on his tongue. But the feeling of the steely knife moved through him again and he deflated, calmed.   He closed his eyes, drew a steadying breath and released it. He felt better.   “No, Mas – Bilbo,” Thorin said, feeling his headache ebb away as he uttered Bilbo’s name. “It’s only that ... the trip will take a fortnight by pony, but—”

            “So?”

            “—it would take nearly double that on foot.”

            Bilbo’s face relaxed and he dropped his hands. “I ... I hadn’t thought about that.”

            Thorin nodded and he breathed easier. “I should have realized myself.” Now that he was thinking about it, he hadn’t seen a single Hobbit riding a pony, or anything else. Not even a pig.

            “I’m used to walking everywhere.” Bilbo said, sheepishly.

            “No matter,” Thorin said. “Is there somewhere we can purchase a pony?” It wouldn’t be cheap but a small one wouldn’t be horribly expensive.

            Bilbo shook his head. “Not in Hobbiton. However, there is a farm just outside of town that raises them for farm use. They might have one I can buy.”

            “We’ll take care of the sale,” Thorin said.

            Bilbo shook his head again, emphatically. “No. I can afford it.”

            “I doubt our King would like that,” Dwalin said from the sidelines.

            “I’m not poor,” Bilbo stated. “I have money. I won’t start off living off the King’s good graces before I’ve done a thing to earn such favors.”

            For some odd reason, Bilbo’s words brought the feeling of the knife to Thorin again, but he pushed it down.

            “Well,” Thorin said. “We can cross the bridge of payment when we get there.” Thorin reached out and started to slide one of Bilbo’s packs from his shoulder. “Until then, let us hitch these to our ponies and we shall walk with you.” Dwalin step forward and reached for the other of Bilbo’s pack.

            “You don’t have to do that,” Bilbo said, but he allowed the Dwarrow to take his bundles. “I don’t want to put you out.”

            “We don’t mind,” Dwalin said quietly. Thorin knew Dwalin was looking at him oddly but he choose to ignore it.

            “Indeed,” Thorin said. Taking the reigns of his pony, he started down the road, Bilbo close by and Dwalin bringing up the rear. “Perhaps ... we can even ... maybe ... get something to eat.” Funny enough, Thorin was suddenly very hungry.

            “I have a few hardboiled eggs,” Bilbo said softly. He pulled a small linen bag out of a another bag attached to his belt. “I had a few left and figured they might come in handy.”

            Thorin had to agree; it was an excellent idea. “That was good thinking.”

            Bilbo handed Thorin an egg and offered one to Dwalin, who thanked him but declined; he’d actually had breakfast unlike Bilbo and Thorin. Thorin gave his egg a gentle squeeze and the shell broke easily, peeling even more so; Bilbo had cooked the egg to perfection. Tossing the shell aside and popping the whole thing in his mouth, Thorin instantly felt better and it was only as he swallowed that he realized that his headache was almost gone and the fog had totally lifted from his mind. He then had a small handful of Bilbo’s Gorp and marveled at the balance of crunchy seeds and soft honey candy; it was truly wonderful.

            Thorin felt much better. And he wasn’t the only one.

            Bilbo released a gentle sigh. “What a lovely morning,” Bilbo said, smiling up at the sky and breathing deeply of the fragrant breeze.

            Thorin agreed, the morning had turned lovely.

            Or, at least it had been until they reached Hobbiton’s market.

            “So,” came a shrill voice to one side. “We’re finally rid of you.”

            Thorin was shocked at the tone and, judging from his face, so was Dwalin.

            Bilbo however, merely closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head slightly before turning a rather fixed smile onto a woman who had stepped forward. “Good morning, Lobelia.”

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

 

 

            Just what the devil was going on?  

           Despite Dis’ continuous questioning of Thorin’s intelligence, he wasn’t stupid. He could nearly taste the animosity between Bilbo and the shrill Hobbit-lass, what with the lass practically sneering through her smile, _‘So. We’re finally rid of you.’_ Nor was Thorin convinced by Bilbo’s cheery disposition and contrived, congenial, _‘Good morning, Lobelia’;_ Thorin had seen his cousin Dain do the same thing before battle!

            It was usually rather funny.

            But this? Both Hobbit’s laughed, yet their laughs didn’t reach their eyes.

            “Off on your...” Lobelia said, pausing for a moment as if her next words were to be painful or distasteful to say. “... _adventure_?”

            Bilbo laughed again, but it rang slightly off. “We aren’t all cut out to live dull, dry lives.”

            Lobelia cocked an eyebrow. “You mean upstanding and proper.”

            Bilbo smiled. “I was thinking more along the lines of stale toast.”

            While both Hobbits giggled, the sound sent shivers down Thorin’s spine.

            “Well, I admire you, Bilbo,” Lobelia said, sounding as if she didn’t. “Giving up a lovely, comfortable smial like Bag End to live in a cold, barren, horrid mountain.”

            Thorin and Dwalin exchanged a quick look; did the woman just insult them?!

            But Bilbo got there first. “On the contrary,” Bilbo retorted gently, his face calm but his gaze a bit pointed. “An intelligent person could never call it cold and barren; what with the numerous Dwarrow living there—”

            “If one likes living with foreigners.”

            “—and only someone banal would think it horrid; the Dwarrow are known for their crafts in metal, stone and gems. I’m sure it would put even the most gaudy, overly decorated Hobbit hole to shame.”

            Lobelia’s smile didn’t falter, but her gaze seemed to harden.

            “Of course,” Bilbo said, with a toothy grin, “You’d know more about all that than I would.” Quickly adding, “Decorating, I mean.”

            “Of course you did.”

            “Absolutely.”

            Both Hobbits continued to smile, but Thorin had a funny feeling they were sizing the other up, building courage –

            “And who are your two...” Lobelia turned a sharp look onto both Dwarrow. “... _friends_?”

            Bilbo puffed up a moment but blinked and his smile became rather fixed. Turning to Thorin, he said, “This is Dwalin, royal guard, second in command and cousin to...” Bilbo gestured to Dwalin, “... Crown Prince Thorin, son of King Thrain.”

            Lobelia looked back and forth from Thorin to Dwalin. She only gave them a half-hearted nod of greeting; offering no curtsy or even a hand to shake, as was the Hobbit custom, but said, flatly, “A pleasure I’m sure.” But she quickly added, “Of course, we Hobbits don’t put much store in all that royal title nonsense and such.”

            “No,” Bilbo agreed, his smile still fixed. “But those with manners offer respect.”

            “If deserved,” Lobelia replied.

            “And speaking of respect,” Bilbo said a little stilted. “I hope you will show the new owner of Bag End the same, warm welcome and respect you have shown me.”

            It was the first time Lobelia’s smile faltered. “Excuse me?”

            “My cousin, Drogo,” Bilbo said. “I hope you show him all the respect he deserves.”

            Lobelia stood silent for a second, her gaze shifting from Bilbo to Thorin to Dwalin, before sliding back to Bilbo; her smile slowly returning. “I’d never dream of giving the Master of Bag End anything less.”

            “I’m sure,” Bilbo said evenly. “And I know my grandfather would be very happy to know that as well.”

            Lobelia nodded. “The last thing anyone would want to do is go against your grandfather’s wishes.”

            Bilbo’s smile never changed, he simply cocked an eyebrow. “Precisely.”

            All four stood there, silence about them except for the gently rustle of the breeze through the leaves and branches of the nearby trees and the gentle birdsong in the near distance.

            “Well,” Lobelia said, threading an arm through the handle of her market basket so that she could use both hands to open her umbrella. “I must be off. I can’t stand about wishing you off all day.” Lobelia squared her shoulders, standing straighter. “I have so many more important things to do.”

            “Oh, no doubt,” Bilbo said. “Spreading gossip is tiresome work.”

            Lobelia and Bilbo laughed at that but rang somewhat false to Thorin’s ear.

            “Speaking of tiresome...” Lobelia started.

            “Oh, yes,” Bilbo said. “How is your mother these days?”

            Lobelia’s smile morphed into something feral and unpleasant, as she hissed, “Still among the living.”

            Bilbo looked as if he had been struck across the face, clearly at a loss as to a reply, while Lobelia offered no farewell to any of the others and marched off down the road, back the way the way the three males had come.

            The ease of the morning had evaporated. Thorin was sorely tempted to ask about Lobelia, but the pensive look on Bilbo’s face was enough for him to remain silent. Dwalin gave Thorin a pointed look but a quick look at Bilbo’s face, was obviously enough for him to come to the same conclusion.

            After a deep breath and quick sigh, Bilbo started walking again; Thorin at his side and Dwalin falling just a little behind.         

            If Thorin had any delusion that Lobelia was an anomaly among the Hobbits, he was proved wrong. As they made their way through town, although Bilbo offered a small smile and nod to everyone that caught his eye, very few of the Hobbits returned the greeting. Most just looked away, some offered a nod in return but immediately returned to their work or chore. A few souls offered tight smiles but as with Lobelia, these didn’t seem to reach their eyes and the looks they gave were nearly disdainful; no one spoke to Bilbo.

            Well, that wasn’t true.

            Just outside of Hobbiton, as they ran into a friendly woman who made Bilbo brighten instantly.

            “Mister Bilbo!” The woman said, a baby on her hip and young girls on either side, the youngest one clinging to her shirts. “I was so afraid I’d miss you!”

            “Good morning, Bell,” Bilbo said, his smile huge and sincere.

            “We wish you weren’t going,” Bell said.

            “I know,” Bilbo replied. “But ... well.” Bilbo shrugged and Bell nodded; clearly whatever it was Bilbo was hesitant to say was well known to the lady before them.

            “And who are your friends?” Bell said, turning a smile to Thorin.

            “This is Dwalin,” Bilbo said, gesturing to Thorin then looked over at Dwalin, “And Prince Thorin.”

            The lady gave each a smile and curtsied; which her two young daughters mimicked. “’Tis a pleasure to meet you both.”

            Thorin and Dwalin both bowed in return.

            Thorin feeling a bit shocked at the warm greeting, but said to Bell, “At your service, madam.”

            The two little girls smiled at Thorin’s formality, but when they looked at Dwalin, he puffed up, giving them a pretend scowl and looking intimidating instead; the girls just giggled and Dwalin had a hard time holding his scowl at that point.

            “Have you everything you need?” Bell asked.

            Bilbo nodded again. “I made fresh Gorp—”

            “Your mother would be pleased.”

            “—and I have the last of the eggs hardboiled.”

            “Here,” Bell said, handing the baby off to the eldest of the two girls, then reaching into the enormous market basket and pulling out a large loaf of crusty bread. “Take this.”

            “Oh, no.” Bilbo shook his head. “I don’t want to—”

            “Bilbo Baggins,” Bell said firmly, “You will take this and enjoy it.”

            Bilbo blushed a little but smiled and took the bread. “Thank you.”

            “No need to thank me.” Bell took the baby back from her daughter. “I’m only sorry I don’t have some jam to go with it.”

            “This is kindness enough,” Bilbo insisted.

            “Nonsense,” Bell stated. “It’s the least I could do. I only wish Hamfast was here to see you off.”

            “I wondered about that,” Bilbo said, quietly. “He ... he wasn’t in the garden when we passed.”

            “Don’t you read into that, Mister Bilbo,” Bell said, suddenly very serious. “He got an urgent message late last night from his sister, May, and he left for Frogmorton before the sun was even up.”

            Bilbo nodded. “I hope everything is all right.”

            “It’ll be fine,” Bell said, her smile returning. “You know May.”

            Bilbo chuckled. “Indeed. Please give Hamfast my best wishes when he returns.”

            “I will,” Bell said softly. “And you take ours with you.”

            “Thank you.” Bilbo and Bell shared a tight hug, or as tight as it could be while Bell had a baby in her arms.

            “You three have a safe journey,” Bell said, pulling back, her eyes a little wet when she turned to Thorin. “And take care of our Mister Bilbo.”

            Bilbo blushed a bit and Bell had said it with a small smile, but Thorin took it as a command, and bowed. “On my honor.”

            They parted ways after that and while the mood from the earlier in the day still did not return, Bilbo seemed less upset, if more pensive. Bilbo was lost in his own thoughts and Thorin was reluctant to draw him out of it. It just seemed wrong somehow.

            Thorin wasn’t sure if the farm they needed to stop at was on their way out of town or if it was a bit out-of-their-way, but Thorin let Bilbo lead; whether the Hobbit knew it or not was another story. If Bilbo had forgotten about stopping and getting a mount, so be it; Bilbo would be light enough to ride with Thorin. But about an hour outside Hobbiton, as the small village had given way to open pastures and fields, scattered smials and farms, Bilbo came up to the gate of one such farm and stopped.

            “Wait here,” Bilbo said quietly, giving Thorin a tired, almost worn smile, as he put his hand on the gate and pushed it open.

            “I’m more than happy to pay,” Thorin said firmly,

            But Bilbo shook his head. “That’s kind, but I’m fine.”

            “Are you sure?” Dwalin said. “Our King may take offense.”

            Bilbo shrugged his shoulder. “Then tell him it was my decision. I’m far from poor and I never planned on being a burden to your king.” Bilbo closed the gate as he stepped through.

            “It’s not a burden,” Thorin insisted.

            “I’m still perfectly capable of purchasing my own pony.” Bilbo said with air of finality and walked off.

            Thorin decided that it wasn’t worth the fight; Dwalin thought otherwise.

            “Your father is going to be furious.” Dwalin stepped over and stood next to Thorin.

            “Fear not,” Thorin said, watching Bilbo talk to what appeared to be the farmer himself but being unable to hear anything they said. “I’ll take the blame and explain the situation.”

            “And just what _is_ the situation?” Dwalin demanded.

            Thorin sighed. “I know as much as you do.”

            “In other words, nothing.” Dwalin seemed to shutter. “What of that ... _Orcish_ woman?”

            Thorin shrugged. Lobelia wasn’t someone he wanted to think about.

            “What was her parting shot at Bilbo all about?”

            Thorin shook his head; he had no clue.  

            “And what’s going on with you?” Dwalin whispered as he leaned closer.

            Thorin kept his expression neutral. “There’s nothing going on with me.”

            “Elf-shit.”

            “I don’t know what—”

            “Yes you do,” Dwalin insisted. “I know you. Better than you know yourself at times.”

            Thorin couldn’t argue that.

            “So,” Dwalin said, “What is going on with you, because I can almost smell it.”

            Thorin rolled his eyes. “A rather disgustingly vivid comment.”

            “You’re starting to sound like Bilbo.”

            Thorin threw a heated look at Dwalin, who only smirked, obviously glad his jab worked.

            Thorin decided to ignore Dwalin from then on. Thorin turned back to Bilbo and farmer just as Bilbo took out a coin purse and handed over some gold coins; far more than was needed in Thorin’s opinion.

            _That Bastard!_ Thorin thought. _Over charged him!_ Clearly the farmer had taken advantage of Bilbo’s present mood and had swindled the poor Hobbit out of a small fortune. The farmer seemed quite happy as he pocketed the money and then hurried off into the barn, but Thorin was not happy at all.

            At least, not until the farmer brought out the pony.

            She was beautiful. Golden in hue, with pale blond tail and mane. The pony was young, probably not even a year old, and looked very sturdy. But at the same time, stepped right up to Bilbo and was obviously sweet natured and gentle. She would prove to a good mount for a new rider.

            Thorin was happier now. Or at least, he wasn’t unhappy.

            Thorin watched as the farmer threw a quilted pad and then a small saddle on the back of the pony; testing it for fit and snugness. With a little effort, Bilbo was on his pony’s back in no time and the farmer led the pony over towards Thorin and Dwalin.

            “Treat her good, Mister Bilbo,” The farmer said, opening the gate.   “And she’ll be good to you in return.”

            “I’m sure, Master Smallfield,” Bilbo said, sitting a bit too stiff and unsure.

            The farmer gave the two Dwarrow a nod each and wished them, ‘Mornin’, before shutting the gate behind Bilbo and walking off.

            “Well,” Bilbo said, leaning a little forward and patty the pony on the side of the neck. “What do you think?”

            Dwalin looked the beast up and down and even stepped up and looked at her teeth. He nodded his approval. “Good choice.”

            Thorin had to agree, although he needn’t repeat Dwalin’s gestures. “She looks reliable.”

            “Daisy.”

            “Excuse me?”

            “She’s not ‘ _she_ ’ ... her name is Daisy.”

            Thorin raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

            “Don’t you like it?” Bilbo asked.

            “It’s ... fine ... it’s just ...”

            “Just what?”

            “We don’t name our beasts,” Thorin stated flatly.

            “Beast?!” Bilbo gaped, offended on behalf of his poor pony. “I’ll have you know she is no beast! She seems very well mannered.”

            “Not a beast in manners, Bilbo,” Thorin said. “But our animals work for us. They aren’t pets.”

            “She isn’t a pet,” Bilbo said. “She is my personal mount, that’s her job.”

            “I doubt she’d like pulling a plow,” Thorin pointed out.

            “A plow?!” Bilbo said indignant. “When on earth do you think she’d be pulling a plow?”

            “When they aren’t being ridden,” Thorin said, “our ponies work in what few fields we have.”

            “What if they can’t tolerate the work?” Bilbo asked.

            “Then they’re supper,” Dwalin replied.

            “That’s not funny!”

            “It’s best not to get attached,” Thorin offered.

            Thorin realized as soon as he said it, it was the wrong thing. Bilbo’s face displayed a range of emotions quickly; surprise, sadness, worry, indignation, anger. Yet it was the last one that took hold.

            “I see,” Bilbo said stiffly.

            “Bilbo ...” Thorin started.

            “As you said, it’s fine. I understand now.”

            “Understand what?”

            “The way of the Dwarrow.”

            “That isn’t ...”

            “Really, I get it. Why should you have consideration for something that is different, who doesn’t conform, someone who is viewed as useless and irrelevant and therefore should not be owed any consideration or courtesy or value, someone only worthy of attention if they have something worth offering, because the minute they are of no use to you, they should be discarded like so much trash!”

            “I never said ...”

            “I thank you for telling the truth of things.” Bilbo grabbed Daisy’s reins and pulled, guiding the pony in the direction they were to go. “I shall now be prepared when your King swings his axe _for my neck_ the minute I am no long of any use to him!”

            Thorin stood there, shocked at the turn of events. He hadn’t meant any of that! That wasn’t what he was trying to say at all! But it was a bit late now and all he could do was stand there, watching the retreating back of Bilbo.

            “I think you upset him again,” Dwalin said casually.

            Thorin sighed and hung his head.

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS TOTALLY UNEDITED ... BUT I HAD TO GET IT OUT!
> 
> if you see any typos or anything that isn't right grammatically, please let me know!!

* * *

 

 

            It seemed like months since they had last spoken.

            But it was only a week. A week of continued, unendingly tense silence. At first Thorin thought it best to leave Bilbo be; let the Hobbit cool off. But the next day dawned and Bilbo remained taciturn. Then the next came and went without a word. And the next and the next; Thorin realized that Bilbo’s anger was clearly much deeper than he thought.

            “You could apologize,” Dwalin whispered one night as Bilbo made a quick stew with the rabbits Dwalin had caught.

            “But I didn’t do anything!” Thorin whispered back, frustrated.

            “Doesn’t matter,” Dwalin said. “I found that just saying, ‘I’m sorry’, whether you are the one wrong or not, goes a long way.”

            “Learn that from Ori did you?” Thorin quipped.

            Dwalin shrugged. “Like I said, it goes a long way.”

            “I’m sure Ori loves how long you go.”

            Dwalin smacked Thorin in the back of the head and stood up, leaning down to whisper, “Just say it and get it over with.”

            The thing was, Thorin already knew Dwalin was right. He’d done it plenty of times with Dis. Mahal was his witness, Bilbo was so much like Dis sometimes; once she got the bit between her teeth, one just had to hang on and ride it out.

            No, the real problem was how to approach Bilbo. The few times Thorin had attempted to reach out and begin a conversation, Bilbo had pointedly turned his back and ignored Thorin.   Bugger it all; Thorin mused to himself that Bilbo could have taught the Elves about giving the cold shoulder and they were already masters of that art! Thorin had little choice those nights but to retreat.

            Bilbo gave a few stirs of the stew, tasted it, scooped a fair portion into a bowl and then sat down on a log close to the fire. It was his non-verbal way of saying dinner was ready and if Dwalin and Thorin wanted supper, they could help themselves. Dwalin did just that, and sat on the large boulder at the edge of their encampment. However, Thorin felt that this evening marked the point of ‘enough’ and it was time to settle matters. Taking a small portion of stew, Thorin took a silent breath and steeled himself for what was to come. There could be no withdraw tonight.

            “Master Baggins,” Thorin started.

            Once again, Bilbo turned his back to Thorin, ignoring him.

            Thorin sat on the opposite end of the log from Bilbo, the only sounds were the crackling fire and the scrapping of Bilbo’s spoon against the inside of his bowl. Thorin took another slow, deep breath, deciding on a directed approach, saying, “I’m sorry.”

            Bilbo’s spoon stopped, but Bilbo didn’t turn.

            Thorin took that as a sign to continue. “My intention was not one of indifference nor was it one of malice.” Thorin looked down at his boots; he was sorry. “I truly did not wish to see you unprepared for a situation that might ... and I stress strong, only _might_ ... occur. She is yo ... I mean, _Daisy_ ... is your mount and therefore her fate is yours alone. I must also own that I sorely misunderstood the way Hobbits—”

            “I’m the one to be sorry.”

            Thorin stilled, slowly turning his gaze to the small hand that had come to rest on his arm. Then he looked directly at Bilbo, who had moved within a few hand-widths away from Thorin.

            “My behavior,” Bilbo continued, “has been childish and uncalled for. I overreacted and blamed you for something that was ... _clearly_ , not your fault.” Bilbo sighed, as if a great weight was being lifted. “You see ... Daisy was already marked for death.”

            Thorin was more than surprised.

            As was Dwalin. “What ever for?!” Dwalin said, throwing a quick gaze over to the gold-colored pony. “She’s young and strong! She has years ahead of her!”

            Bilbo shook his head. “She hated plowing. She hated being strapped to the small ones, couldn’t pull the larger ones straight, and disliked being used to carry heavy load, so a merchant's life wasn't for her either. Plus, as you found out, we Hobbits don’t ride, so there was another occupation that she was unconsidered for. Other than making manure, the farmer didn’t think she was worth keeping ... her meat and skin would have been more valuable. When I .... I heard the story, I feared for her fate and thought I could save her.”

            “Then I went and confirmed your worst fears,” Thorin added quietly then shook his head. “I did not know.”

            “You would have,” Bilbo said, “Had I not ... if you’ll pardon the pun ... gotten on my high horse and accused you of being unfeeling monsters. I’m very sorry.”  

            “You don’t need to be.”       

            “I should have acted more maturely and told you right off my reasons.”

            They were all quiet for a minute before Dwalin said, “She seems a sweet-natured thing.”

            Bilbo nodded. “She’s very sweet. And the farmer swore she was dumb as a bag of rocks but I have found that isn’t true at all. She’s just ... different. She doesn’t belong in a field behind a plow.”

            “Then she won’t ever be,” Thorin said firmly.

            “No?” Dwalin asked.

            “You mean that?!” Bilbo lit up like a flame “Truly?!”

            Thorin nodded. “She can be a teaching tool.” Dwalin nodded; clearly catching up with Thorin’s thinking.

            “How?” Bilbo however was confused.

            “Dwarrow don’t ride as much as Men or ... Elves,” Thorin replied. “But we do ride far more than Hobbits. It’s important then for Dwarflings to learn early how to care for a mount so that when they travel later in life, they can care for the animal on their own. Daisy will be a wonderful teacher for them to learn from ... she is gentle and calm, easy and tolerant.”

            “I bet she would be good with first riding lessons,” Dwalin added before turning to Bilbo and saying, “As long as you are all right with that.”

            “I think she’d like it!” Bilbo was positively beaming. “The farmer did say that her one ‘redeeming quality’ was that she was very loving towards his fauntlings.”

            “Then it is settled,” Thorin said, take a deep breath and sitting up straight. He felt better than had in days! “Daisy’s job when not with Bilbo will be a teacher and ... maker of manure!”

            Bilbo giggled at the last while Dwalin rolled-eyes good-naturedly. Thorin thought it was funny himself.

            “Thank you,” Bilbo said, giving Thorin’s arm a squeeze.

            Thorin felt a warmth pass through him as Bilbo’s touch, but it was hard to name; he’d never felt such a thing before. But he almost felt a little lightheaded and couldn’t help but smile. Yet in his mind, something nagged at him and before he could stop himself, he opened his mouth and his thoughts came tumbling out without his consent.

            “Tell me, Master Baggins, do you see Daisy’s plight as your own?”

            Bilbo stiffened, a little startled.

            “I don’t mean to offend,” Thorin rushed on, “but your words to us last week and the description now of your reasons, make me feel that you share more in common with Daisy then you say.”

            Bilbo sighed and seemed to deflate, but he didn’t remove his hand from Thorin’s arm. “Had you asked me that a week ago,” Bilbo said softly. “I would have said you were dead wrong, that you were being ridiculous and that the whole idea was completely absurd.” Bilbo turned a rather pained look to Thorin. “But, of course, we both know at this point you are quite correct.  I have no place in Hobbiton society, because I don't fit in ... I've learned to hide in so many ways.”

            “You needn’t hide from us,” Thorin said.

            “It’s become habit you see,” Bilbo said.

            “Hiding you mean?” Dwalin asked from the sidelines.

            Bilbo turned to give Dwalin a nod. “In Hobbit society, when someone asks how you are, you aren’t suppose to tell them how you _really_ are because they aren’t _really_ asking.”

            “What does that mean?” Thorin was confused. Why ask if you didn’t care to know.

            “It’s polite you see,” Bilbo answered, a slight bitter smile on his face. “They asked, ‘ _How do you do_ ,’ you respond with, ‘ _I’m well, thank you. And yourself?_ ’ and they reply with, ‘ _I’m well_ ’ or ‘ _I’m fit as a fiddle_ ’ or ‘ _I’m fine_.’ It goes on from there.”

            Dwalin huffed out a sneer. “Talk about ridiculous.”

            “I won’t argue with you there,” Bilbo said. “But it’s all about appearances with Hobbits. One mustn’t appear to be disagreeable or discourteous or unpleasant ... we must all do our best to be proper Hobbits.”

            “Your cousin, Lobelia, must not have gotten those lessons,” Thorin added dryly. “Never have I met a more horrid person in all my days.”

            Bilbo laughed but like his smile, it was tinged with bitterness. “In some cases, the parties are all too aware of there dislike for each other, so there is little point in hiding it.  Plus I have given her much to dislike me for.”

            “She dislikes you for associating with us,” Dwalin spat out.

            But Bilbo shook his head. “I’m sorry you got pulled into our squabble, but it really wasn’t about you and, in fact, Lobelia and I have disliked each other for most of our lives.”

            “Because of your preferences?” Thorin asked. As odd as it was for Dwarrow, he had to concede that the Hobbits didn’t accept the love between those of the same gender.

            Bilbo shrugged. “You aren’t far off, but it would be an over simplification of the issue. You see, Lobelia and I grew up together, her brother being friends with my cousin, Otho. And as children, we got on fairly well, or as well as we were expected to. Of course she was prissy and a little snotty as a little girl ... I’m sure you’re not surprised ... but all in all, she wasn’t near the horrid person she is now. However, when we entered our tweens, she made it clear she was interested in me.”

            “And you had zero interest!” Dwalin snickered.

            Bilbo smiled, “Yes, but not necessarily for the reason you think.”

            “What other reason is there?!” Dwalin.

            “With his cousin,” Thorin added dryly, “probably more than we can dream up.”

            “You aren’t wrong,” Bilbo giggled at Thorin’s comment. “Had she been a pleasant, caring person ... agreeable and understanding ... I might have considered the idea. No one wants to be alone after all.”

            “No,” Thorin said quietly.

            “But in truth,” Bilbo said. “She didn’t care about me or my situation or anything like that—”

            “But that’s a good thing, right?” Dwalin asked. “That it didn’t matter to her.”

            Bilbo shook his head. “I didn’t mean she was unconcerned about my ... _interpersonal preferences_. I mean, her goal was a selfish one; she only wanted to be mistress of Bag End.  I was only a means to her end ... nothing more.”

            “Mistress of Bag End?” Thorin stated. “No offense ... it’s a lovely home ... but was being it’s mistress so great a title to bear?”

            “The title alone? No,” Bilbo answered. “But don’t forget, we Bagginses are major land owners. Marrying the Master of Bag End meant marrying the wealthiest member in the largest landowner family ... not just of Hobbiton ... but of the entire West Farthing. We own vineyards as well as farms ... we are gentleman farmers who least our lands and in the process—”

            “Make a great deal of money,” Thorin finished. “She only wanted to marry you so that she could be wealthy.”

            Bilbo nodded. “And _‘lord’_ over the other residents of Hobbiton and nearby towns.  She had no care for me as a person, let alone as a husband.”

            “Selfish Cow!” Dwalin literally spat on the ground.

            “And she never forgave you for ruining her dreams,” Thorin stated.

            Bilbo nodded but said nothing; Thorin hadn’t really asked a question, and no need to give an answer they already knew.

            “From then on,” Bilbo said, “She used my preference for the same gender, as a weapon, and spread it far and wide.  She made sure everyone knew for a fact, rather than just suspected.  She made sure that behind closed doors, I was little more than a laughing stock.”

            “So much for maintaining propriety,” Thorin said.

            “You only have to proper to someone’s face,” Bilbo said sardonically. “Nothing in Hobbit society says gossip behind someone’s back is bad, because we all pretend that it never happens. But you are right.” Bilbo’s gazed drifted off into his own thoughts.  "I am different ... and therefore of no use, except for my money."

            So, there was the proof. Hobbits really were underhanded and manipulative and grasping and every horrid thing Thorin feared. But that all seemed so unlike Bilbo, who didn’t seem that way at all. Frankly, given all that he’d been through, the treaty seemed even more questionable.

            Thorin could hold back no more and the question that should have been asked at the start was voiced.

            “Why did you agree to this marriage?” Thorin asked.

            Bilbo looked at Thorin, perplexed.

            “Why did you push for it,” Thorin continued, “when you, yourself, knew it was hollow and empty?”

            “Is _that_ what you think?” Bilbo asked incredulously. “That _it was I_ that pushed for it?” Bilbo’s eyes widen just a bit and he whispered, almost to himself, “That explains so much.”

            “You agreed to it.”

            “Not really.” Bilbo shook his head.

            “What?!”

            “Not at first.  I argued against it.”

            “You did?!”

            Bilbo nodded. “In my opinion, Dwarrow protection for food seemed like we were getting the far better end of the deal; why also demand a marriage in the bargain?”

            Thorin was stunned and he made no effort to hide his feeling on his face.

            “My grandfather pushed for it,” Bilbo continued. “He said it would cement the treaty, but I argued that we already grew too much food for ourselves ... feeding your people would have been no problem ... and in exchange we'd have protection during the worst months; don't think the Fell Winter didn't hit us hard too.  I felt that using the threat of starvation, to force a marriage that would mean nothing, was wrong.”

            “I don’t believe it,” Dwalin said looking at Thorin; they were both so wrong.

            “Truly,” Thorin said.

            “However, I think, in the end,” Bilbo added. “This marriage was my grandfather’s way of making sure I was not alone and that I would be accepted. He kept making comments that I could be free to be myself and no long have to contend with gossip and condemnation and ridicule and loathing ... although I insisted that I didn’t care ... he worried about my reputation, my standing, my place in society ... I told him I still didn’t care, that I hated the idea of forcing this on your king when there was no reason, but ... when the time came, I saw that the provision was going to be added despite my objections and I feared they would force someone like Lobelia onto your king, so I gave in.”

            Guilt was not an emotion that Thorin normally felt.

            He felt it now.

            “So you sacrificed yourself,” Dwalin said.

            Bilbo shook his head and insisted, “I don’t see it as a sacrifice. There were many reasons to consider it.” Bilbo turned to Dwalin, and stated, “Plus, I met your father and he was very amiable and, while I didn’t want to see him strong-armed into a marriage, I also didn’t want to see him end up with some harpy or troll. When he and I chatted at the signing, he seemed resigned to the marriage, so I decided to make the best of the situation.”

            Echoes of Thrain’s words resounded in Thorin’s mind, ‘ _I’M TRYING TO MAKE THE BEST OF THE SITUATION!’_ Both Thrain and Bilbo saw the merits of the treaty, from their respected side, and both were willing to make the best of it.

            Thorin’s guilt deepened a bit.

            “I think ‘sacrifice’ is the correct term,” Thorin said. “I’m sorry you had to give up your home.”

            “Aye,” Dwalin added morosely.

            “Please don’t think that,” Bilbo said. “While I loved Bag End, my leaving has done good.”

            “In what way?” Thorin didn’t think it good at all; as one who had lost his home, he knew defeat’s bitter taste.

            “As you may not have realized,” Bilbo answered, “Lobelia did manage to marry into the Baggins’ clan.”

            “She did?!” Both Thorin and Dwalin were disgusted.

            Bilbo nodded. “She married my first cousin, Otho. Technically, if anything were to happen to me, or I had no heirs ... which was extremely likely ... they would have inherited Bag End. But with my going, I told my grandfather that I wanted it to go to my cousin Drogo; my second cousin. His intended is my first cousin on my mother’s side, Primula Brandybuck. Naturally, Otho and Lobelia complained to no end ... even going to see my grandfather and demanding that they be first in line ... but I told him I wanted it to go to Drogo and as I am still the Master of Bag End and alive, I have some say in that matter!” Bilbo laughed. “Drogo and Prim plan to have lots of children, he is kind and jovial, she is sweet and intelligent ... they will make excellent residents of Bag End and fill it as it always should've been. And the fact that Lobelia looses out, is just icing on the cake.”

            “And now you will be able to live a life without ridicule,” Thorin said.

            “That’s another bonus,” Bilbo quipped but gave Thorin a smile.

            Something odd was happening between them. Thorin could feel it, if not name it. Bilbo was nothing that he thought and Thorin would be hard pressed to deny that he hadn’t come to appreciate, if not outright enjoy, Bilbo’s company. Thorin also came to the conclusion, that the time had come for him to be honest with Bilbo as well; he must confess his true identity.

            He only hoped that Bilbo would understand and forgive him.

            Thorin took a deep breath and sighed. “Master Baggins—”

            “Did you hear that?!” Bilbo’s ears twitched and his grip on Thorin’s arm tightened.

            “What?” Dwalin demanded, jumping up and drawing his sword.

            “What did you hear?!” Thorin was also up and drawing his sword.

            “There’s something moving in the dark!”

            Although neither Dwarf could hear what Bilbo was hearing, they moved closer together; Thorin grabbing Bilbo and placing between Dwalin and himself. For long moments there was only the sound of the dying fire and their breathing as it grew heavy from the rush of suspense and fear.

            There was the snap of twigs just beyond the fire’s light and then there seemed to be eyes everywhere.

            Bilbo gasped.

            “Wolves.”

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio make it home to the blue mountains ...

* * *

 

 

            _What ..._

_What happened?_

_Where am I?_

Thorin’s head was pounding, yet it all seemed so far away from him; _wherever_ he was. He heard himself groan but that too felt/sounded far away. Slowly, as his world seemed to condense, he became aware of his body, he perceived his limbs - all of them - and that they hurt, a lot; particularly his right arm. And his right shoulder. Not to mention his back. Oh and his chest, that hurt too. Fuck it, everything hurt, while his head continued to throb.

            He felt nauseous and there was a stale, iron taste in his throat; he might vomit. But there was something odd about it; he wasn’t sure how he knew, but something, a feeling, _some instinct_ , told him his queasiness was not about his pain.   

            He couldn’t open his eyes, yet he urged himself to sit up or roll over or just _move_ ; his body protesting all the while, and he figured out, his right arm was – _restrained_?

            “You need to relax,” said a deep, disembodied voice.

            Thorin willed his eyes to open, to respond, but even as he cracked them open, the light was too bright. He closed them.  He lay still, drawing slow steady breaths, then tried once more, slowly blinking his way awake but out of focus and saw—

            _The sky was made of canvas?_

            “Where the ...” Thorin croaked out; his throat was drier than dust. And his head now spun as well as throbbed; he laid it back down, closing his eyes again, but grumbled, “Where the hell am I?”

            “Almost to your halls.”

            He hadn’t the strength, at the moment, to raise his head again, so as he continued his steady breathes. _Just breath ... in and out, in and out,_ he recalled his cousin, Groin, telling him; when he was a small Dwarfling in Erebor; he’d once falling down a short mine shift while on an inspection tour with his father and he'd come to in the infirmary.  Groin was there with his oldest son, Oin. Groin told him to _‘just breath’_ while Thorin got his bearings.

            After a short rest, Thorin opened his eyes and was able to full focus on his surroundings; he was in the rear of a canvas covered wagon.   And he was not alone. There were two Men dressed in brown and green; one next to Thorin on his right, while the other sat on Thorin’s left sat near the opening flap at the rear of the wagon.

            “Who the hell are you?” Thorin demanded.

            “Dúnedain,” said the one on the right. “Rangers of the North.”

            “Watchers,” Thorin mumbled.

            “As we are known in the Shire, yes,” said the one on Thorin’s left.

            “I’m Galien,” said the one to Thorin’s right, “and this,” Galien pointed to the other ranger, “is my brother-in-arms, Reyner. We were patrolling the area when we heard your commotion.”

            “What comm—”

            Now he remembered. Wolves.

            _Bilbo!_ “Where ...” Thorin struggled to get up but he felt oddly lopsided; His right arm was bandaged and in a sling.   There was an odd feeling running through him, almost a panic, it clawed at his insides and his nausea increased. “What have you done wit—”

            “Your companions are safe,” Galien insisted. “They were not as badly injured.” Thorin was only barely aware of Reyner leaning out the back of the wagon and saying loudly, _He’s awake little one._

            “But they _were_ injured?!” Thorin demanded. By the Gods, he was going to throw up if his nausea continued much longer.

            Reyner smirked and said, “When two Dwarrow and one Hobbit go up against a pack of ten wolves, injuries are bound to happen!” Both men chuckled at that.

            “I don’t find humor in your words, _Ranger_!” Thorin spat out the title like a swear word. He fought down his pain, and his rolling stomach, as he tried to get up. “You will tell me—”

            “Beyond bruising and minor cuts,” Galien informed him, gently but firmly holding Thorin in place, “both your friends are well. You were the more wounded of the three.”

            “Wonderful,” Thorin said dryly. “How _‘more wounded’_ was I?”

            “Your right arm has a fracture but it’s not displaced,” Galien answered. “It should heal quickly. In addition, you have various puncture wounds and claw cuts. However ...” the ranger smirked to himself and shook his head. “It was not the wolves that did you in.”

            “If it wasn’t the wolves ... then ...” Thorin was confused.

            “It was—”

            “Dwalin!”

            Thorin looked up and there was Bilbo, blessedly safe, climbing into the back of the wagon. Bilbo’s clothes were dirty and there were rips and tears here and there, but no sign of blood. Thorin’s breathing eased and his nausea subsided a good deal. But before Thorin thanked Mahal, he got a good look a Bilbo’s face and saw a small scrap and bruise to Bilbo’s left forehead.

            “What happened to you?!” Thorin knew the dangers of head wounds and Hobbits were not as hardy as Dwarrow.   “Are you all right?!”

            “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Bilbo said, waving off Thorin’s questions and making his way over to Thorin’s left. “I just tripped. How are you, though? How do you feel? Are you hurting? Where are you hurting? What do you nee—”

            “Enough, little one,” Reyner said, laughing. “You might wish to let him answer one question before asking more.”

            Bilbo shot the man a narrowed look but Reyner wasn’t the least bit intimidated. Bilbo chose to ignore the man and turned back to Thorin. “ _Are you_ in pain?”

            Thorin successfully sat up, with a little assistance from Bilbo, but it was hard not to grimace. “I will not lie and say I am well, but it is nothing worth bothering with.” He reached up and brushed Bilbo’s curls away and gazed upon the Hobbit’s bruised forehead. “You on the other hand ...”

            “I’m completely fine,” Bilbo said, taking Thorin’s hand away from his forehead but not releasing it.

            Somehow, just holding Bilbo’s hand eased a good more of Thorin’s pain but not all of it. And Bilbo saw it.

            “Have you a cup?” Bilbo asked Galien, you produced a small metal traveling cup from his pack. Bilbo took it, filled the cup with a small about of water – Thorin hadn’t even noticed the waterskin laying next to him – and reached inside the pouch on his belt. Pulling out two small packages; Bilbo poured a small amount of white powder from the first one, and a pinch of what looked like dried leaves from the second, into the water and stirred it with his fingers. “Sorry ...” Bilbo gave Thorin and apologetic look, “... I don’t have a spoon.” He held the cup out to Thorin. “Drink this.”

            Thorin wrinkled his nose; it smelled bitter.

            “It’ll help the pain,” Bilbo said. Thorin looked at Bilbo then dubiously back to the cup, then to the cup, then back to Bilbo. Bilbo rolled his eyes and insisted, “Trust me! Just drink it.”

            With a deep breath, Thorin drank it down. He nearly choked, but he drank it all. “That was vile.” He held the cup out, not caring who took the damn thing.

            “Vile or not,” Bilbo said, taking the cup and filling it with more water and handing it back to Thorin. “It will help you.”

            “I don’t know,” Thorin said, drinking the fresh water that still had a pale linger of bitterness. “If I had to drink more of that, I might choose the pain instead.”

            “Well, you’re lucky I giving you a choice.”

            “What other choice is there, besides outright refusal?”

            “I could have diluted it and administered it as an enema.”

            Thorin smiled, about to laugh when he realized that Bilbo was not laughing. “You can’t be serious.”

            Bilbo just raised an eyebrow. “You’ll find out if you refuse your next dose.”

            Thorin heaved out a sigh. Fine. He had no intention of refusing any if that was the alternative. “What else was in there?”

            “Excuse me?”

            “I recognized the Willow Bark powder,” Thorin said. “But those dried ... herbs or whatever they were ... what else was in that ... concoction?”

            Bilbo shrugged. “Mostly Valerian, some Chamomile, a little Lavender ... although effective, it would have tasted better if the water were hot.”

            “I doubt it,” Thorin grumbled.

            “You should rest,” Bilbo said.

            “I’ve been out for...” Thorin looked from Bilbo to Galien. “How long have I been asleep?”

            “Off and on for three days,” Galien said quietly.

            “THREE DAYS!” _What the fu_ ...

            “Please be calm,” Bilbo urged.

            Surprise didn’t cover his feelings. Thorin was ... stunned? Shocked?   Astounded? “What in the name of Mahal happened?!”

            Bilbo blushed furiously, Galien said nothing, while Reyner laughed.

            “A Rock!” Reyner said before laughing again.

            “A ... what?” What did rocks have to do ...

            “It was me,” Bilbo said, softly, embarrassed and his ears turned a bright red to match his cheeks. “It was my fault.”

            Thorin to look at Bilbo but stilled. Bilbo was looked pained, even a bit hurt, clearly guilty and that just couldn’t be born. “I’m sure,” Thorin said, gently squeezing Bilbo’s hand, which he still held in his left, “whatever happened, it was not meant on purpose or maliciously.”

            “No.” Bilbo shook his head. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel badly.”

            “In his defense,” Reyner said, seriously, “it was a good shot.”

            “Poorly aimed,” Bilbo added under his breath but still heard.

            “Your aim was true,” Galien insisted. “Your target just wouldn’t stay still.”

            “What exactly happened?” Thorin asked.

            Bilbo opened his mouth, but ... nothing came out.

            “He was brave,” Galien said.

            “He was crazed is what he was!” Reyner said, laughing.

            Bilbo shot Reyner a narrowed look. “I had to do something!”

            “You did!” Reyner continued to laugh. “Just not what you had in mind!”

            “You and your kinsman,” Galien said to Thorin, “were doing a fine job keeping the wolves at bay.”

            “How did Bilbo get involved then?” Thorin couldn’t remember the details, but he doubted either he or Dwalin would allow Bilbo to fight.

            “Well ...” Bilbo cleared his throat. “I stayed back as you told me but ... when the three large ones came at you ...”

            “These were not hungry, starving animals,” Galien said. “They were hunting but they were not driven to be sloppy. They played both of you Dwarves, just staying out of reach, attempting to tire you out.”

            “Dwarrow don’t tire!” Thorin insisted.

            “I think they figured that out,” Bilbo said softly. “Because they started to circle and randomly charge you both.”

            “Between you and your friend,” Galien continued, “You were down to six wolves, but they were the biggest and the death of their pack-mates only enraged them further. Finally, they were able to separate and come between you both—”

            “That’s when the biggest one grabbed your arm,” Bilbo interjected. “He twisted it and I heard a snap—”

            In Thorin’s mind and he suddenly remembered an explosion of pain and crying out.

            “—the other two with him started ... starting moving in ... and ...” Bilbo stuttered, “... and, well ... I ... I _had to do_ something!”

            Thorin now remembered telling Bilbo to stay out of it.

           

            _“Get back!” Thorin barked out, pulling Bilbo backwards so that he and Dwalin stood between Bilbo and the pack._

_“I want to help!” Bilbo insisted._

_“Help by staying back!”_

_“I’m not weak!”_

_“They’re moving in!” Dwalin shouted and Bilbo raised the large branch he held in his hands like a weapon._

_Thorin once more pushed Bilbo behind him. “This isn’t about weakness.” He wouldn’t risk Bilbo’s life, every nerve screamed for him to protect. “We are trained and we can handle this!”_

_“But ...”_

_“Please,” Thorin said, only loud enough for Bilbo to hear._

_Bilbo gave in, nodding and moved so that he up against the large boulder that Dwalin had been sitting on just a few minutes before._

But things went fuzzy and Thorin couldn’t remember more, so he gave Bilbo a look to continue the story.

            “You fought very bravely,” Bilbo said.

            “But as I said,” Galien offered, “these were not starving, crazed wolves.”

            “Once they had you separated,” Bilbo stated, “That’s when they moved in. I thought it would be better but then your arm was broken and I just ...”

            “Go on,” Thorin urged Bilbo to tell him.”

            “Well, I ... I used the weapons close at hand.”

            Thorin was puzzled; what weapons?

            “He chucked rocks at them!” Reyner said with a smirk.

            Bilbo blushed but didn’t deny it.

            “His aim was good,” Galien said in Bilbo defense. “He broke the leg of one and knocked the second clean out. However, the third one still had your arm in it’s jaw and wasn’t about to let go.”

            Thorin looked at Bilbo incredulously; only rocks and he’d done that much damage?

            “Just as we came up on the scene,” Galien said, “he aimed for the beast’s head and let the rock fly.”

            “It would have been a great shot,” Bilbo said, sounding small.

            “Oh, sure,” Reyner said with a little laugh. “If it hadn’t moved!”

            “What does he mean?” Thorin asked.

            Bilbo looked away, embarrassed. “The second the rock left my hand, the damn wolf twisted you both around and ...”

            “And he clocked you right square in the back of the head!” Reyner told Thorin, almost weeping in his laughing.

            Bilbo was bright red, right to his ears, but even Galien was smiling at the tale.

            Thorin had no choice; he released a riotous laugh.

            “It isn’t funny!” Bilbo shouted, both hands on his hips in indignation.

            Thorin only laughed harder.

            “I could have hurt you!”

            “You did!” Reyner answered, receiving another glare from Bilbo

            “You got a concussion,” Galien stated, “and have been in and out of consciousness for three days.”

            His head hurt so much, but Thorin continued to laugh.

            “I didn’t mean to do it!” Bilbo said, now sounding upset.

            “Of course you didn’t,” Thorin said, reaching out with his good arm and taking one of Bilbo’s hands. “You were trying to help and it sounds like you did; you took out the other two.”

            “I’m sorry,” Bilbo said sounding small and his voice watery. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

            “Hey, hey, hey,” Thorin insisted giving Bilbo’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m fine, clearly recovering, and I assure you ... it will take more than a rock to the back of the head to slow a Dwarf.”

            “I won’t argue with that,” Galien said.

            “And you have to admit,” Thorin said. “It’s kind of funny.”

            Bilbo looked momentarily scandalized, but Thorin gave him a small smile and Bilbo finally gave in, sighing and letting go of a small giggle. “I guess.”

            Thorin laughed. “Actually, it’s very funny.”

            Bilbo laughed and laid his forehead on Thorin’s. “All right ... it was funny.”

            Thorin’s head gave a weak throb but not from pain. There was something soothing and comforting having Bilbo there, holding Bilbo’s hand, feeling the cool touch of his skin against his own, and that feeling that Thorin could not name filled him. He could not contain the sigh that escaped him.

            He also could not stop a yawn escaping as well.

            “Someone’s tired,” Reyner said, good-naturedly.

            “The herbs are kicking in,” Bilbo explained softly.

            “He probably should rest,” Galien stated.

            “Of course.” Bilbo nodded.

            Bilbo pulled away and Thorin suddenly felt cold and a little dizzy. He tightened his hold on Bilbo’s hand. “You don’t have to go.”

            “No, Galien’s right,” Bilbo said, slowly letting go of Thorin’s hand and moving towards the exit. “You rest ... I’ll be back to see you soon.”

            Thorin felt disappointment mixed with a bitter yearning as he watched Reyner assist Bilbo back out of the wagon, not to mention a cold angry when Reyner touched Bilbo. Thorin had never felt such a mix of emotions before and didn’t fully understand, but neither did he question it.

            “You’re very lucky,” Galien said, quietly.

            “Excuse me?” Thorin said.

            “He loves you,” Reyner replied, oddly seriously.

            Thorin bristled at the remark. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

            “The Hobbits call us ‘Watchers,’” Galien said, “and for good reason. We are keen observers of the land and danger. But we are also astute observers of the people we watch.”

            “Not that they notice,” Reyner said dryly.

            “A wise old man once told me,” Galien said, “That you could learn all the ways of Hobbits in a month, and yet they can still surprise you. Bilbo’s love for you is astounding and the fact that he no compulsion to hide it, even more so.”

            “You’re ...” Thorin suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe. “... mistaken; you’re wrong.”

            Reyner shook his head and his uncharacteristic seriousness returned. “Hobbits feel emotions, from friendship to hatred, but especially love, very deeply, but it’s all hidden beneath layers of manners and propriety; nothing out of place or unseemly. As such, the idea of love between two of the same gender is suppressed, kept hidden and secret behind closed doors, certainly not shown openly and never expressed publicly.”

            “You are not observing correctly,” Thorin said, a snake of panic writhing in him.

            “You have not observed him as we have the last three days,” Reyner countered.

            “He has been beside himself with worry,” Galien added.

            “He has fretted,” Reyner went on, “blamed himself, begged Galien to let him help, anything, so long as he could help you.”

            “I heard him weep,” Galien said. “that first night when we were unsure if you would wake or not.”

            Thorin felt hot, tight, and he didn’t want to admit what was now becoming clearer to him; the nausea, the possessiveness, the urge to protect, the yearning for Bilbo to stay, the comfort of Bilbo being near – _no, this could not be the way of things!_ He could not find his other half, his One, in the heart of someone promised to another, to _his father_ of all beings!

            But at the very thought of Bilbo being his alone, Thorin’s heart and soul settled and there was nothing left but acknowledgement.

            “So you see,” Reyner said. “You are very lucky.”

            “Lucky,” Thorin said, closing his eyes against the irony of the word.

            Thorin’s mind drifted off. Images of a warm, sunlit field, white clouds, birdsong and the warmth of someone else, a smaller someone, laying next to him, played on his dreams. Words of affection and love whispered, confessed, acknowledged, shared between him and his One. No fear, no shame, no more loneliness, his heart filled and no longer yearning.

            To have that and share a home with –

            _HOME._

Thorin’s eyes flew open and he gasped for breath.

            “Look who’s awake,” Reyner laughed. “Did you enjoy your slumber?”

            “Slumber?” Thorin asked, blinking. Hadn’t he just closed his eyes. “How long was I out?”

            “A few hours,” Galien said. “No more than three.”

            “What time is it?” Thorin demanded, panic in his voice.

            “It is but an hour before sun down,” Reyner said, glazing up at the sky through the wagon’s flap.

            Thorin turned his head and asked Galien, “You said something earlier about my halls.”

            Galien nodded. “We should be arriving—”

            There was sudden shout of greeting, from what Thorin guessed was one of the rangers, and then what was unmistakably Khuz-dul, shouted in reply.

            Thorin was home.

            _No, no, no, no, no, no, no!_ He’d had told Bilbo the truth yet!

            “I have to get up!” Thorin demanded, struggling to stand.

            “Relax,” Galien said, trying to hold Thorin steady. “We’re almost there.”

            “I know!” Thorin said. His head was throbbing again and he could hear more Khuz-dul being shouted back and forth between his people. He could not make out all that was said, but he swore he heard a call for guards and his title being bantered about.

            “Calm yourself, friend,” Reyner said, now coming to Galien’s assistance and holding Thorin steady.

            “BILBO!” Thorin was a little dizzy but if he could just see Bilbo for ten minutes – _five even_ – alone, then maybe he could at least make so Bilbo wasn’t shocked or surprised.

            Or hurt.

            Thorin continued to struggle to move, all the while, Galien and Reyner kept their hands on his shoulders and upper arms so that he would not topple over. Finally, mustering up what strength he had, Thorin was able to stand – well, stoop really – waited for his dizzy to pass and then moved to the flap of the canvas covered wagon and climb out.

            “THORIN!”

            No sooner had his feet hit the ground, then he was wrapped up tight in an embrace from his sister.

            “Thank the maker!” Dis said, pulling back and giving Thorin a quick once over. “None to badly I see!  When the rangers' messages arrived, we were worried sick!”

            Before Thorin could respond, Oin was next to him, giving him another quick once over, checking his arm and head. “How many?” Oin asked as he thrust his hand in Thorin’s face; three fingers held up.

            “Twenty-seven,” Thorin snarked, he was in no mood to play patient.

            “He’s fine,” Dis said, with a smile and a dismissive wave. “It’ll take more than a rock to bring him down!”

            “Dis, where’s—”

            “Dwalin and Bilbo are right there,” Dis said, stepping back and pointing over to the other two, who were surrounded by a large group of Dwarrow guards and a few council members.

            Bilbo looked pale and stunned.

            “Thorin?” Bilbo said, with a rather hollow voice. “As in ... Prince Thorin?”

            All the Dwarrow laughed at that.

            “Who else would he be?” asked one of the council members, sounding as if he thought Bilbo insane.

            “I ... isn’t ... I mean ...” Bilbo was slowly turning a red color. “Isn’t he Dwalin?”

            “Dwalin is standing next to you, my dear,” Dis said, clearly amused, and then turned to Galien. “Are you sure Thorin was the only one to receive a blow to the head?!”

            “Only an idiot would confuse those two!” said a Dwarrow guard and that got all the rest of the Dwarrow laughing again.

            Thorin felt sick as a look of pained embarrassment and what he was sure was hurt betrayal spread over Bilbo’s face.

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FOR THOSE THAT READ THIS CHAPTER WITHIN THE FIRST 24 HOURS ... I APOLOGIZE ... I realized that i had the arrangement of the chapter ALL WRONG!! Nothing new was added, but the 'events' are in better, chronological order now.
> 
> Please forgive me ...

* * *

 

 

            As they were rushed into the mountain, Thorin chanced to look back and saw Galien and Reyner speaking with Bilbo. Thorin was too far away to hear what was said, but the sharp, heated glares sent at him by both Rangers was enough to know that during his recuperation, that they had not known Thorin’s true identity; clearly not liking that Bilbo had been duped as well. Dwalin hadn’t exposed him, but that was not surprising; Dwalin had made it clear that it was on Thorin’s head and his alone, to confess to Bilbo.

            However, his kin thought Bilbo ridiculous and, despite Bilbo being within earshot, continued to laugh over the whole thing.

            “How can he suddenly think you are Dwalin?” Dis asked, completely confused. “Truly, did he hit his head as well?”

            “No,” Thorin said, irritated with the situation and his own stupidity. “And it’s not ... sudden, it’s ... it’s a long story.”

            “Well ... you’d better tell it at some point,” Dis said, looking about at the guards and councilmen laughing. “Father isn’t going to be pleased if this continues.”

            The trio was taken directly to the infirmary. Thorin had thought to get Bilbo alone there and try to explain, to make Bilbo understand, to apologize, but whether it was by choice or design, Thorin never got a chance to speak with Bilbo; whenever Thorin looked for Bilbo he was either not in sight or not glancing in Thorin’s direction. Then again, Thorin wondered if he even had a right to look at Bilbo after what he’d done.

            Finally, Bilbo had been cleared and was whisked away by Balin and Ori. Thorin’s guilt pierced him as he watch Bilbo leave amid the snickers and demeaning looks from the Dwarrow. Dwalin left shortly after, and simply offered Thorin a nod as he departed, most likely for his private quarters. Thorin was kept another hour before being released.

            His first instinct was to go and find Bilbo, to speak with him. However, he figured that at that point, Bilbo probably didn’t want to speak to him. Thorin didn’t blame him. No, he headed to his room and decided an early night was best; he wasn’t hungry as he was starting to feel ill and dizzy. A good night sleep was in order and he made a promise to seek Bilbo just after first light.

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

            Bilbo was numb. He felt cold and distant from the world around him.

            Thorin.

            _He was actually in love with Thorin._

            As in Thorin, the Crown Prince; heir to the Throne of the Longbeards; Durin’s Folk.

            Regardless of fabled soulmates, or being _‘struck by lightning’_ , or any _‘mistaken identity’_ , by Hobbit standards, whether there was a blood relation between them or not, once Bilbo married Thrain, he would, in effect, be in love with his son; the ‘step’ part would not matter. Therefore, Hobbits would see Bilbo’s love as, not only adulterous, but incestuous!

            Bilbo was going to be sick.

            Yet, inspite of all that, what was far worse and painful was that Thorin, his soulmate, his one and only, the one his soul yearned for – even if his heart hurt – had betrayed him. Mocked him.  Thorin had made him a laughing-stock for no reason that Bilbo could think of. Oh, he remembered Thorin commenting that he thought Bilbo had been the one to push for the marriage, but – well, certainly that couldn’t be the reason?! That was just a minor thing, why would Thorin hide his true identity over something like that?  

            No, there was only one thing he could think of; Thorin felt nothing for him.

            Bilbo wanted to die.

            Sitting in the infirmary, he glanced over at Thorin now and then, hoping to catch his eye, but Thorin didn’t even look at Bilbo. _No need to_ , Bilbo thought bitterly. _Thorin’s home now. Thorin probably had friends and lovers ..._ Bilbo’s stomach turned sour at the thought ... _plenty to choose from; better persons, more desirable persons, persons that where not meak and useless to him._

Like Bilbo was.

            Closing his eyes, he remembered, now sadly, listening and dreaming at his parent’s feet when he was young.

 

            _“Tell me about when you met, mummy!” Bilbo giggled. He loved this story._

_His mother laughed but never told Bilbo no. “It was a lovely spring morning ...”_

_“It was a grey, autumn afternoon!” Bungo protested, making Bilbo giggle again._

_“... there wasn’t a cloud in the sky ...” Belladonna said, dreamily._

_“It was raining,” Bungo stated, flatly but there was a smile playing his lips._

_“... I was walking through a field ...”_

_“You were standing in the marketplace.”_

_“... there was a riot of flowers, everywhere ...”_

_“You were standing by the baked goods.”_

_“... when suddenly your father came walking over the hill ...”_

_“I bumped into you by accident!”_

_“... I was completely spellbound by him ...”_

_“You almost fell into the mud. You swore under your breath.”_

_“... words completely failed me ...”_

_“You said, ‘Considerate people say they’re sorry!’”_

_“... when I looked at him, it_ _was like the whole world stilled and your father was the only real thing in it.”_

_“What did you feel, Papa?” Bilbo asked, excitedly._

_“TERROR!” Bungo said, with mock horror on his face. “There was Belladonna Took, the most fiercely beautiful girl in all The Shire, staring at me … at ME … simple, old Bungo Baggins! Of course I felt absolute terror!”_

_They all laughed at that. Belladonna even more than Bungo or Bilbo._

_“I knew instantly,” Belladonna said; her voice soft and tender. “That I’d never love another.”_

_Bungo smiled gently and took his wife’s hand. “It was the most wonderful day of my life.”_

            Growing up, Bilbo always dreamed he’d have the same. Even when he was older and the prospect of finding a lover, let alone having a partner, seemed a pipe dream, his heart still held on to the hope that someday, it’d know love like his parents.

            Well, that dream as dead now.

            He’d found one true love, and it wanted nothing to do with him.

            Correction, _Thorin_ wanted nothing to do with him. Why else would Thorin not come to see him, to speak with him, to apologize or explain?

            It had been horrible sitting there in the infirmary, all alone, listening to the others whispering about him – clearly not knowing he could hear them, or else they didn’t care that he could. He over heard one orderly say, ‘ _You’ll never believe what the Half-ling said!’_ The explanation that followed was met with muffled laughter. ‘ _What an idiot! Couldn’t they find someone smarter to marry our King?_ ’ ‘ _Maybe he’s the best they had!_ ’ ‘ _Oh, Mahal! What a thought!_ ’ More laughter.

            When he was cleared to leave the infirmary, he had become painfully aware that his mistake was not going to die anytime soon; the doctors and orderlies continued to snicker behind Bilbo’s back even as he left with. Balin Fundinul had arrived just before, saying how nice it was to see him again since the treaty signing and that he hoped he would feel welcome in the mountain.

            _One out of two wasn’t bad_ , Bilbo thought sourly.

            Balin had also brought a young Dwarrow with him; Ori, son of Rina. Polite and pleasant, Bilbo would have been thrilled to meet Ori, had it been any other time but then.

            Balin and Ori took Bilbo to his new room. Well, more ‘suite’ than room really. There was a large chamber, a sitting room and dining area combined, about twice as large as Bag End’s front Parlour and lit with large candles on the bedside tables and on the mantel over the hearth. Off the main chamber was a smaller room with a large bed; it looked almost Hobbit with canopy and heavy drapes, but instead of being made from wood, it was carved from stone. There was even smaller room off the bedroom that had a round, cooper tub and discreet chamber pot.

            “His majesty knows how you enjoy books,” Balin had said, after giving Bilbo the full tour. “So we have had these brought in.” He gestured to four wooden bookcases, each about a metre and half tall, two on either side of a beautiful, matching desk.

            “There are no windows,” Bilbo remarked. His mood was turning even darker.

            “Unfortunately,” Balin said, “Unlike our former home—”

            “Former home?”

            “—the rock here is less stable, and will not allow us to carve windows to the outside.”

            “I see,” Bilbo said, disappointed and not really understanding. He looked about the room, gave a small shiver and wished there was a fire going.

            Ori must have noticed because he went to the fireplace, arranged the large pieces of wood and, using a flint laying beside the hearth, soon had a fire started. “That should warm the place up,” Ori said cheerfully.

            “Yes,” Bilbo said, glancing at the fire and then to Ori, giving the young Dwarf a small smile. “Thank you.” It wasn’t what Bilbo wanted to warm him, but it would do.

            They stood still for a few long seconds before Balin broke it.

            “Your things have been brought in.” He pointed to Bilbo’s baggage sitting next to the bedroom door; Bilbo hadn’t noticed it earlier.

            Bilbo nodded but said nothing.

            “Are you all right, Master Baggins?” Balin asked gently.

            Bilbo nodded again, offering another small smile. “I’m fine.” It was true and yet a lie. He was physically ‘fine’, but his very soul ached and he felt hollow, empty.  “I ... I think I’d like to rest,” Bilbo said, quietly. “If I may.”

            “Oh ...” Balin was taken aback. “If you’d like. It’s just ...”

            “Yes?”

            “His majesty was hoping to come see you ... welcome you to your new home.”

            _Oh, Gods!_ Bilbo tried to remain calm. _What if he takes one look at me and knows?! What if I give myself away?!_ Bilbo couldn’t handle both Thorin’s pain and Thrain’s hospitality at the moment; his heart betrayed by one and had already betrayed the other. Bilbo took a slow, breath in. “That’s very kind, but ...”

            “I understand,” Balin said. “You’ve had quite the journey and shock.”

            _Shock._ Yes, Bilbo had had that sure enough but he also realized that Balin was probably talking about the wolves, not Thorin.

            “Come, Ori,” Balin said. “We should leave Master Baggins alone for now.”

            “I’d like to stay for just a bit,” Ori said. When Balin looked like he would protest, Ori rushed on. “I thought I would unpack Master Baggins’ things so that he would not have to wake in the morning and deal with it.”

            “You don’t have to do that,” Bilbo said. It was kind of the young Dwarf to offer, but really—

            “It’s no problem,” Ori said, moving to Bilbo’s bags and opening them.

            “Very well,” Balin stated. “Good night, Master Baggins.”

            “Good night.”

            As the door closed behind Balin

            “You really don’t have to do that,” Bilbo said to Ori.

            “I’d like to.” Ori opened the first sack, which held Bilbo’s books. “I’ll put these on a shelf.” The four bookcases were quiet large, so the few books Bilbo had brought looked almost ridiculous stacked alone in the huge expanse of empty shelves.

            “Thank you.”

            “Where would you like this?” Ori said, bringing out Bilbo’s Mother’s quilt and shaking it out.

            “On the end of the bed is fine,” Bilbo said, but then noticed all the furs and heavy, woolen blankets.

            Once more, Ori was astute enough to pick up on Bilbo’s train of thought. “It might be nicer on the settee before the fire.” Ori folded the quilt and placed it over the back of the settee; it did look nice there.

            “Good idea.” Bilbo tired to smile but it was getting harder. He just wanted to lay down and forget everything.

            “Are you all right, Master Baggins?”

            Bilbo nodded. He wasn’t at all, but he didn’t want to burden ...

            “I’m glad Dwalin was with you.”

            “What?”

            “Because of the wolves,” Ori clarified, a dreamy look upon his face. “Dwalin is so very brave and strong.”

            Bilbo had to smile at that. “You like him ... don’t you?”

            Ori blushed but he didn’t deny it. “I wish I had been there.”

            “I wish you had been there too,” Bilbo said without thinking.

            “You do?!”

            It was the truth. “Thing would’ve been quite different.”

            “What things?”

            Now that Bilbo thought on it, he doubted there would have been any mistaken identities had Ori been along. But he shouldn’t say that. “Nevermind.” Bilbo gave a waning smile to the young Dwarf. “I’m just tired.”

            “No.” Ori gave Bilbo a narrowed, searching look. “You mean something by that.”

            Bilbo shouldn’t have said anything. _I must remember to hold my tongue when I am tired_. “Really, I’m fine. I just need to sleep.”

            But Ori shook his head, and gently led Bilbo to the settee to sit. The fire was blazing warmly now and once he sat down, Bilbo relaxed into the soft cushions and let the heat wash over him.  Ori reached over and pulled Belladonna's quilt around Bilbo's shoulders; Bilbo practically melted.

            “Tell me what's wrong,” Ori said. “Please.”

            Bilbo opened his mouth, part of him wanted to tell, but another part told him to stop and keep it to himself.

            “I know you don’t know me, but ...” Ori pressed. “I want to help you if I can.”

            “Do you,” Bilbo murmured. Only Drogo and Primula had ever been close to him; had understood him. He’d like to have a friend like that here, especially a friend that ... had the same preferences, like Bilbo ... in a mountain that didn’t seem that different from the gossiping, judging, demeaning life he’d thought he’d left behind. Ori’s offer was so touching and, frankly, Bilbo was wearing down. “I don’t ... know ...”

            “Please.”

            "Well ..." Bilbo sighed, and began. “If I had to start somewhere ... I’d guess it began when I got Lady Dis’ letter ..."

  

\-----ooooo-----

       

             Thorin's plan of speaking with Bilbo in the morning, sadly, came to nothing; just as Dis predicted, Thrain was unhappy at the turn of events, and everything had took a decisive downward spiral.

 

            “HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?!”

            Thorin was not normally afraid. He’d gone up against Orcs and Wargs, bears and wolves. Once he’d even tracked a wild boar through thick forest only to come upon the beast in a small clearing, ready to battle Thorin to the death.   No, Thorin was not normally afraid of much.

            But then his father was not normally enraged.

            “TELL ME!” Thrain commanded, pacing about the room like a hungry lion in its den. “HOW DID THIS ...  _DEBACLE_ , HAPPEN?!”

            “Well ...” Thorin breathed out, trying to think quickly.

            “AND DON’T HONEY-COAT IT TO SHOW YOU IN A BETTER LIGHT!”

            Thorin felt sick and ill, still slightly dizzy, but he would not dare tell his father that. “It was a ... a simple misunderstan—”

            “SIMPLE?!” Thrain roared. “A  _SIMPLE_ MISUNDERSTANDING?! THERE IS NOTHING  _SIMPLE_ ABOUT IT!”

            “No,” Thorin said, under his breath. There was no way around it. “Bilbo mistook Dwa—”

            “IT’S MASTER BAGGINS!” Thrain bellowed. “YOU HAVE LOST THE RIGHT TO CALL HIM BY HIS GIVEN NAME!”  

            Thorin nodded. “Ma ... Master ... Baggins.” It felt wrong to call Bilbo  _‘Master Baggins’_  and Thorin’s stomach churned with the words, but, again, it was not the time to inform his father of his feelings. “He ... he only had Dis’ letter—”

            “Don’t blame me!” Dis spat out.

            Thorin shook his head. “No, I ... I ... I just ... mean, he had very little to go on and ... when we arrived ... he ... he mistook Dwalin for myself.”

            “Yes,” Thrain hissed out, stomping closer to Thorin, “We’ve already been informed by Ori, who spoke with Master Baggins last night, on the how and why he though the way he did. One could not blame him for his mistake!”

            “No,” Thorin said quietly, shaking his head.

            “And,  _of course_ ,” Thrain stated sardonically, “you did what any  _HONORABLE DWARROW_ , would have done and  _CORRECTED HIM_! DID YOU NOT?”

            Thorin opened his mouth but, nothing came out. What was there to say when they all knew the truth.

            “No reply,” Thrain said with a curled lip and a dismissive wave. “It matters not ... SINCE WE ALL KNOW THE ANSWER ALREADY!”

            “Father,” Dis said softly. “Try and remain ca—”

            “I AM CALM!” Thrain shouted. He took a few deep breathes before continuing. “While Master Baggins’ ...  _confusion_  ... over your identities is quite excusable ... even understandable ... what I truly wish to know is why you thought it necessary or warranted to  _not_ correct him immediately?!”

            Thorin felt another wave of sickness wash over him and he just breathed.

            “I’m waiting!”

            Thorin nodded. “I ... I thought it ... would be ...”

            “Would be  _what_?!”

            “I thought ... it would be a good—”

            “ _Idea_?! Are you saying you thought it some grand  _joke_?!”

            “No.” Thorin shook his head again. “An ... opportunity.”

            “For what?! To humiliate him?!”

            “No, no ... to, uhm ... to ...”

            “Thorin,” Thrain snarled. “I am loosing all  _PATIENCE!_ ”

            “To discover the truth.”

            “The truth of  _what_ , may I ask?!”

            “The ... truth behind why he ... he wanted to go through with this ... this marriage.”

            Thrain got right into Thorin’s face, saying lowly, “Did it, at any time, occur to you to ask me?” Thorin looked a little surprised, and Thrain smiled mockingly. “Did you think me so  _clueless_ , so  _ignorant_ ,—”           

            “No!”  

            “—so  _old and senile_  that I wouldn’t have known of Bilbo’s reasons? Did you not think he and I would talk of such things  _prior_  to agreeing in the first place?”

            “Father, I never thought—”

            “No. You clearly didn’t!” Thrain turned his back on Thorin, but he wasn’t finished yet, as looked to Dwalin. “And YOU! At any point during this entire  _farce_ , did it dawn on you to tell Master Baggins the truth?!”

            Dwalin stood there, wide-eyed, for a moment before shooting a gaze at Thorin.

            Bad move.

            “DO NOT LOOK TO HIM FOR GUIDANCE!” Thrain bellowed, pointing at Thorin, “YOU WILL ANSWER MY QUESTION!”

            Dwalin swallowed. “As my ... my prince, I thought it best—”

            “DO NOT STAND THERE AND TELL ME THAT HIS POSITION WAS ENOUGH TO SILENCE YOU!” Thrain began to pace once more. “That has NEVER stopped you before!”

            “No, sire.” Dwalin said, sounding far smaller than one would think possible.

            “I can only conclude then,” Thrain barked out, “that you agreed with Thorin’s scheme!”

            “Well ... I ...”

            “DID YOU OR DID YOU NOT?!”

            “He ... he made some excellent points on the way there and—”

            “Oh, I see,” Thrain once more turned to sarcasm. “And that alone was enough for you to hold your tongue for nearly two weeks?!” Thrain shook his head. “I’d love to learn what wizardry Thorin has learned so as to make you bow down and play his dog!”

            The doors to the room opened and Balin, looking flustered and agitated, quickly entered, shutting the doors behind him.

            “I demand good news, Balin,” Thrain said without humor.

            “Regrettably, I must disobey, your majesty,” Balin said, a little breathless as if he’d run.

            “How bad is it?”

            “It’s already spread over half the mountain.”

            Thrain closed his eyes, turning his face to the ceiling and released what sounded like a growl, before a deep breath and releasing it slowly.

            “We have worked tirelessly,” Thrain said aloud, “for nearly a month trying to smooth the way for Master Baggins’ arrival. We have spoke at length with the council, talked to the populace, arranged for Ori as a guide and companion, made sure that he would be seen as an intelligent addition to the royal family and the Longbeard’s in general, but in a few short hours,” Thrain turned on Thorin once more, “YOU HAVE MANAGED TO UNDERMINE ALL OUR EFFORTS!” Thrain drew a few breaths to calm. “He is now seen, at the very best, a simpleton, and at worst, an idiot! Thanks to you two, he has been humiliated before even stepping foot through our gates!”

            Thrain released a sigh and moved to sit upon his throne; his expression one of tired exasperation.           

            Thorin’s stomach ached and churned; there was only thing for him to do. Taking a deep breath, he said, “I will go and apologize to—”

            “YOU WILL STAY AWAY FROM HIM!” Thrain roared banging a fist on the arm of the throne. “And until such time as you have thought over what you have done and realized the damage there of, you will not be left alone with him ... not until I have seen for myself that your repentance is sincere!”

            Thorin closed his eyes against the sharp pain that shot through his gut, but he stood strong and only nodded at his father’s command.

            Thrain seethed for several long seconds, the silence weighing heavy in the room, then said, “Go. Both of you. Out of my sight.” Dwalin and Thorin bowed their heads and made to leave, Thorin swaying from his dizziness. “And Dwalin,” Thrain snapped. “Take Thorin back to the infirmary. He looks likes he’s about to keel over.”

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

            “I should blame you,” Dwalin said, supporting Thorin as they made their way down the corridor.

            “You should,” Thorin said, quietly. “I do.” He truly felt ill and the thought of not seeing Bilbo anytime soon, if at all, only made it far worse. “I’m sorry that I got you into such a mess.”

            Dwalin shrugged. “Your father is right, I should have spoken up myself. I didn’t, so ... you are not ... not completely at fault.”

            “Don’t try making me feel better,” Thorin said. “You know very well I don’t deserve it.”

            Dwalin looked Thorin over.  “What’s wrong with you, by the way?” Dwalin asked, sincerely concerned. “You truly look unwell.”

            “I’m ... I’m just tired,” Thorin said. It wasn’t too far off, he felt like he could crawl into bed and never leave it. But it wasn’t the truth either.

            “Maybe you picked up some ...  _germ_  or something from the Rangers?”

            “No, I just need to sleep.” He was not about to tell Dwalin the truth of his feelings.

            “Probably,” Dwalin said. “Thankfully there are plenty of beds in the infirmary.”

            “No.”

            “What?”

            Thorin stopped and Dwalin had no choice but to do the same. “I just need to rest ... in my own bed.”

            “But your father said—”

            “I doubt he’d care where I go.” Thorin was sure of that. “Just ... tell Oin to check on me in a while. I want to be alone for right now.”

            Dwalin looked dubious at the request. “I think you should go to the infirmary.”

            Thorin gave Dwalin a pointed look. “Just tell Oin.”

            Dwalin shook his head, but Thorin didn’t see it as he had already turned off and was heading towards his room. As he reached for the handles on his door, he paused, and could not help turning his gaze down the corridor of the royal wing; Bilbo was only a few rooms away, not but a dozen metres in total. There was such a yearning in him that Thorin could almost feel the pull like a physical thing, tugging and stretching him.

            But he stopped himself.

            Bilbo did not want to see him.

            He was sure of it.

            He’d betrayed his One and did not deserve to be in his presence. Not to mention, could he even claim Bilbo as his One when he would soon belong to another. Thorin stomach rolled, and there was a bitter taste of bile in his throat.

            Thorin opened his door and walked in to a darkened, cold room. Either the servants had forgotten to light the fire or they had been told to leave Thorin to his own devices. Thorin had a funny feeling that it was the latter. A warm hearth would have been nice, but Thorin didn’t really care. He just wanted to world to go away.

            As soon as he was stripped down to his tunic and small shorts, he drew back the furs and linens, climbed in, and then pulled the coverings over him completely; cocooned in darkness.   

            Quickly, he fell asleep and dreamed of Bilbo. But his dreams did not settle him; imagines of Bilbo’s pain, his embarrassment, and his betrayal – all Thorin’s doing – were the only things Thorin’s heart and mind would conjure.

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

* * *

 

 

            Thrain sat on his throne, slowly trying to massage out the furrow between is brows, calmly breathing in and out, and trying to gain his composure. But he was keenly aware that he had little time to rest. “Where is he now?” Thrain asked, as he stood and headed for the door. The ‘he’ in his question was clear to the other two in the room.

            “Still in his room, I believe, your majesty,” Balin replied, following the king closely. “Ori told me that when he went to check on Master Baggins this morning, Bilbo was still sleeping on the couch before the fire; where Ori had left him the night before.”

            “Who can blame him?” Dis said, following behind the other two.

            “In your opinion ...” Thrain paused, his hand on the door handle, and looked at Balin. “Do you believe it would be best to leave him be, or should I go see him?”

            Balin clearly turned the king’s words over in his mind. “Well, I’m given to understand that Hobbits, when embarrassed or upset, will more often than not seek solitude to regain their ... equilibrium.”

            “I’ve heard the same,” Thrain said.

            “But if we ignore him,” Dis stressed. “Won’t he think ill of us?”

            “A good point as well,” Balin said with a pointed look at Dis, and drawing a breath and turning back to the king. “I fear, in this case, leaving him on his own may lead him to conclude that you, like many others, view him with contempt.”

            Thrain, on the other hand, looked offended. “I hold no such view!”

            “Of course, not!” Balin said. “But, we should be mindful that an unattended emotional state, may allow the mind to make leaps of assumption that are not true.”

            “That’s an unsettling thought,” The king shook his head in frustration.

            “I have to agree,” Dis added.

            Thrain stood quietly a moment, before asking, “Very well, I think we all agree we should go and see him, but ... should we address the issue directly, or allow Master Baggins to address it?”

            Both Dis and Balin thought over the question.

            Finally, Balin shook his head, replying softly. “It might be best to visit him, to show that we have not abandoned him, but allow Master Baggins to broach the subject if and when he sees fit.”

            Thrain nodded; he and Balin were of one mind.

            But Dis was not so sure. “Are you sure that’s wise? Wouldn’t he think that we only wish to sweep the incident under the rug? Should we not, ourselves, bring it up and give him some sort of resolution? Wouldn’t that show Master Baggins even more so that we care, by not let it go so easily?”

            “As I mentioned,” Balin stated, “Hobbits usually deal with such matters privately; either along, with their family, or with the other party involved. But always out of public view.”

            “But, are we _not_ his family?” Dis asked quietly. “At least, the closest thing to family he has here?”

            “Most would say, no,” Balin said. Under Dwarrow law and tradition, Bilbo wouldn’t be considered family until after the marriage ceremony. And even than, some would think someone of another race as always an outsider. “But the bigger question would be whether Master Baggins sees us as such. After all that has transpired, can any of us say with certainty that Bilbo would even _desire_ to view us as family?”

            There was no clear answer to that.

            Dis huffed out a sigh. “This whole thing is intolerable! We should have Thorin go and apologize—”

            “Absolutely not!” Thrain was emphatic. “I do not want your brother anywhere _near_ Master Baggins for a good long while!”

            “But if it’s as Balin says,” Dis pointed out, “having Thorin apologize could well settle Master Baggins’ emotions and start the process of healing!”

            “No!” Thrain put his foot down. “And hang what others would say! As far as I am concerned, we are indeed his family here and we will meet with him and offer our support and make it clear that he is valued and honored.”

            “That’s all well and good, father, but that won’t be enough to win over the general populace or stop the spread of rumors and repair his reputation.”

            “We can deal with that later,” Balin offered. “I suggest it’s Master Baggins we should focus on for the time being.”

            “Agreed,” Thrain nodded; he and Balin were once again of one mind.

            Dis said nothing more, but her mind would not shut off. She was rather proud that her father was not turning his back on Master Baggins, and she did agree that as ‘family’ they needed to show support for their newest member. However, as angry as she was with her brother, she did feel that Thorin was sincere in his remorse and regret, and that keeping him from apologizing was not right; something about it struck her very wrong as a matter of fact, but she couldn’t say why it bothered her.

            There had to be a way to give both Bilbo and Thorin peace, mend the broken trust between them, make sure the populace understood and turn their opinions around. She wasn’t yet sure exactly _what_ that could be, but she _was_ convinced that if she was given a bit more time, she’d figure it out.    

            As her father opened the door, and all three of them made their way to Master Baggins’ rooms, Dis’ mind continued to whirl and plot.

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

            Bilbo felt only marginally better.    

            Ori had stayed late, listening and offering support but cause give no logical explanation for Thorin’s deception; none that the young Dwarrow could think of. Ori's quiet support was a balm to Bilbo and he’d decided fairly quickly that Ori was indeed going to be a good friend.           

            Just before mid-night, Bilbo had startled awake, realizing that he had fallen asleep on the couch and had been left there by Ori. Bilbo wasn’t upset; Ori probably hadn’t wanted to disturb Bilbo’s slumber. Bilbo was rather touched. But Bilbo had no desire to sleep in the too-big bed and had merely refreshed the fire, wrapped himself up tighter in his mother’s quilt and drifted back into unsettled sleep.

            Bilbo had only been vaguely aware that Ori had stopped by that morning; quietly ordering someone, a servant probably, to fetch a tray and then, once the tray had been brought in, hurried the servant and himself out.

            Bilbo fully woke some time later. The fire had burned down to glowing embers. He sat up and noticed a teapot, cup, plate of bread and cheeses and a little fruit, sitting on the small table. The teapot was cold but Bilbo poured the water inside into the small copper pot that hung on the fireplace crane and swung it over the fire to warm.

            Bilbo made his way to his washroom and cleaned up a bit. He undressed, had a quick wash with cold water, rinsed his mouth, and then dressed in something clean and a bit warmer, but making his way back to the living area.

            The water was now hot and he made his tea, pulled the bread apart into large, chucks, spread butter that he had missed before and then pour his now steeped tea into a cup and eat.

            The food only did so much. He was still mentally foggy, as if he hadn’t slept in ages and he mildly-ached all over. He knew what it was.

            The Fade.

            Oh, granted, it wasn’t as bad as if he had confessed his love to Thorin and been rejected; he’d survive this. But it was due to their – disconnection – that was plain. And it would take him a great long while to over come it. Talking to Thorin would have helped but Thorin hadn’t sought Bilbo out, hadn’t come to see him, hadn’t apologized, hadn’t at the very least explained, and that was what made it all the harder.

            Bilbo felt sick again, and pushed the food away; his appetite was nearly gone.

            Just as well, as there was a knock on the door. His heart skipped a beat; was it Thorin come to see him, to apologize, to make things right?

            “Just a moment,” Bilbo called, quickly stood and made his way to the door.   When he opened it, he was disappointed, but a little surprised by the number of people standing there, rather than whom; he hadn’t expected the king, Balin and Lady Dis; and no Thorin. “Your Majesty.” Bilbo gave a small bow of his head.

            The king, however, waved off Bilbo’s decorum. “Please, Master Baggins, if you must use a title, King Thrain will do.”

            Bilbo nodded and gestured to the room behind him. “Would you all care to come in?”

            “Indeed, thank you,” Thrain said.

            Dis gave Bilbo a smile and said, “Good morning, Master Baggins.” As she followed her father and Balin, entering last, nodded a greeting with a soft smile and added, “Morning, Bilbo.”

            “What may I do for you, King Thrain?” Bilbo said, closing the door and trying to appear far more clear-minded and collected than he felt.

            “I wanted to come see you,” Thrain said, giving Bilbo a smile. “Make sure you were comfortable and felt welcomed.”

            “Oh,” Bilbo said feeling a bit foolish. _Of course the king would check on his new – acquisition_. Bilbo stopped that thought, it was not nice. _And besides_ , he told himself, _in all likelihood, the king is just going through the motions_. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Not at all,” Thrain stated. “We are family now. And there is nothing more important to the Dwarrow than family.”     

            Bilbo smiled, but his mind spat out, _Not all your family wishes me to be a part of it. Thorin wants nothing to do with me and I can see that the young princes are not here as well._

They stood there as the seconds stretched and Bilbo was sure, _They’d probably want to be anywhere other than here right now._

Balin broke the silence. “ So ... uhm ... how did you sleep?”

            “Well, thank you,” Bilbo said. His disappointment at Thorin not being there was turning a little to bitterness.

            “Ori mentioned that you slept on the couch,” Dis said casually. Thrain gave her a pointed look that Bilbo missed, but she continued. “Was the bed not to your liking?”

            Bilbo colored a bit. “It ... it was ... I mean ... I’m sure it’s fine. I just ... fell asleep there and ... didn’t see a reason to unmake the bed when I woke in the night.”

            “You woke in the night?” Dis said, giving Bilbo a pointed look of her own. “So you _didn’t_ sleep well.”

            “Uhm ...” Bilbo hadn’t meant to let that slip out and he quickly reached for an excuse. “The ... uhm ... fire ... had died. Down. So ... I woke ... and, uhm ... built it up again.”

            “But you _still_ didn’t seek your bed.” Dis clearly wasn’t giving up, and once more Bilbo missed looks that both Thrain and Balin shot at Dis.

            Bilbo felt uncomfortably on the spot. “As I said ... I, uhm ... didn’t want to unmake the bed.”

            “Right,” Dis said, nodding. She stepped back and moved about the room.

            Thrain cleared his throat. “I see your bookshelves are empty.”

            Bilbo glanced over to the cases. “I only brought a few books with me.”

            “Your grandfather mentioned you liked reading,” Balin said. “We expected you to bring more with you.”

            “Oh ...” Bilbo swallowed.   “I’m sorry.”

            “No, please don’t apologize,” Thrain insisted. “I just want to make sure the room is to your satisfaction.” Thrain looked about, seeming to measure the place with his eyes.

            “Uhm ... yes. Completely.” Bilbo thought he had everything he needed really.

            “Is there anything you require?” Thrain asked.

            “Or want?” Balin asked.

            Bilbo shook his head. “Nothing I can think of.” _Except Thorin._

            “Really?” Dis asked quietly as she picked up a piece of cheese from Bilbo’s untouched breakfast tray and popped it into her mouth. “There is ... _nothing_ ... you want?”

            Bilbo looked at Lady Dis and felt a uncontrolled blush color his cheeks. _She knows something!_ He thought. But he dismissed it; how could she possibly know anything? They just met! “No, your ladyship. Nothing.”

            Dis’ expression did not change; she only tilted her head slightly. “ _In the whole of the mountain_ ... there is _nothing_ ... that you would _have_ ... _nothing at all_... that would make you _feel ... at peace_ here?”

            Bilbo felt his ears grow warm but he schooled his face to remain frozen.   With a steady breath, he smiled, hoping it looked real, and said gently, “Uhm ... _maybe_ some tea.”

            Thrain and Balin laughed at the small joke and Bilbo was able to relax just enough to join in. He hoped that would stop the questioning.

            But Dis immediately perked up, releasing a tiny gasp, standing taller and wide eyed. “Tea?! Tea you say?!”

            Bilbo didn’t think it was that funny. “Well ... I was sort of jok—”

            “WHAT A LOVELY IDEA!” Dis said, slapping her hands together and striding forward to hook an arm through one of Bilbo’s. “Let us away!”

            “But—” Bilbo was suddenly spun around and marched towards the door.

            “Your ladyship?” Balin was perplexed.

            Thrain was no better. “Dis! What are you—”

            “WE’LL BE BACK SOON!” Dis shouted over her shoulder cheerfully as she yanked the door open and dragged Bilbo out through it.

            Naturally, as the door slammed shut, Dis and Bilbo totally missed a very confused Thrain turning to a rapidly blinking Balin and demanding, “What the hell just happened?!”

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

           

            “I can’t tell you how glad I am you're part of the family!”

            Bilbo blinked in surprise. _Why in the world is she talking so loudly? I’m right here?_ Bilbo could only image what the servants they were passing in the halls were thinking of him and Dis, arm in arm, walking.

            “I’ve been so looking forward to getting to know you!”

            “I’m ... so pleased ...”

            “As am I!”

            Dis was marching them right out of the royal wing and into what Bilbo guessed were more common areas and corridors; they were larger and wider, more populated.

            “What,” Dis clamored, “To think of all that you suffered on your way here!”

            “Ah ... well ...” Bilbo was pulled and swung along. The corridor they were in opened up to a huge, cavernous space; the central market if the stalls and kiosks were of any indication. “... I don’t know about ... suffering.”

            “Don’t you?!” Dis practically shrieked. “I’d not call in any less than horrific!”

            Bilbo felt a little embarrassed as people about them were starting to stare. “Well ... to tell you the truth ...”

            “OH! I must know everything!” Dis demanded loudly. “Of course, Ori has told us of your dishonorable treatment!”

            _What?_ “Dishon ... dishonorable treatment?”

            “Of course!” Dis wore a look of horror. “To think how wronged you have been!” Dis brought them to an abrupt halt. “There! That’s where we are going!”

            Before Bilbo could even turn his head, Dis spun him around once more – he was almost dizzy at this point – and was pulling him towards a shop carved into the wall on the far side of the market. They were moving quickly, so he missed the many people following him and Dis with their eyes and the few that following behind physically.

            As they entered the shop it was clear; it was a teashop. Bilbo was momentarily thrilled; who knew the Dwarrow liked tea so much! A curvaceous woman, dressed in various shades of purple and lavender came over. She wore her silver-colored hair in elaborate braids, all pulling her hair up into swirls and curls piled on her head like a small, intricate beehive. Her bread was equally braided and done so close to the skin. Even Bilbo could see she was ‘handsome.’

            “Rina!” Dis greeted the proprietress.

            “Good afternoon, Lady Dis,” the woman said, her voice was slightly husky, warm and inviting; maybe even a little seductive. She gave Bilbo a subtle but thorough once over and turned back to Dis. “May I help you?”

            “Rina,” Dis said, with a large grin, “I’d love to introduce you to the newest member of the royal family, Bilbo Baggins.”

            Rina’s eyes widened. “How do you! I’ve heard a great deal of you!”

            “You ... you have?!” Bilbo said, not sure he wanted to hear exactly she’d heard.

            “Of course!” Dis said with a laugh. “Bilbo, this is Ori’s mother.”

            “Oh!” Bilbo was relieved and held out a hand, which Rina took. “It’s a pleasure to meet you! Your son is a kind, intelligent, young ... Dwarrow. You should be very proud.”

            Rina smiled and did puff up a bit as she shook Bilbo’s hand. “I am proud. Very much so.” She stopped shaking Bilbo’s hand, but didn’t release it; her expression turned serious, as she leaned closer. “Ori has told me about you as well.”

            Bilbo colored at that. It was clear now what Rina had heard.

            “Rina, my dear,” Dis said loudly. “We’d love to have some tea!”

            “Absolutely!” Rina said. Leading them deeper in the shop.

            “This table is just perfect!” Dis said, pulling Bilbo to a stop, right at a table in the middle of the teashop.

            “Here?” Rina looked about. “Wouldn’t you like a more ... private table?”

            Dis shook her head. “Would you bring us your most delicious tea and something to nibble.”

            Rina was settled them in and was off to get some tea.

            “What do you think of the shop?” Dis asked relaxing back in her chair, slightly leaning to one side.

            Bilbo did the same. They were large chairs, not unlike his parlour chairs back in Bag End; so much nicer than tiny, wooden chairs. “It’s ... lovely.” The place was well proportioned and even though cut into the rock wall, it did not feel like a cave. And it was decorated with warm tapestries, thread bear here and there but still homey and the entire place was inviting.

            “Here we go,” Rina said, setting down a tray, loaded with a generous teapot, two large cups and a full basket of looked like savory biscuits.

            “Won’t you join us?” Dis asked, sitting forward and pouring tea for Bilbo and herself.

            “I’d love to, but ...” Rina gestured around them.

            Bilbo looked around and was surprised. Since they sat down, more shoppers had come in and taken tables. Why, almost every table was filled now! Bilbo figured it must have been a meal time or maybe people stopped here for a late breakfast? Either way, it was clear Rina was going to be doing a bang-up business that morning!

            “Well, when you have time,” Dis said.

            Rina nodded and hurried off. A Dwarf, who looked a great deal like Rina, was already moving about and taking orders, while Rina started at the tables not yet waited on.

            “So!” Dis said loudly, taking a nibble from her biscuit and a sip of tea. “As I mentioned before, I’m so very happy you’ve joined the family!”

            Bilbo blinked at Dis’ voice; it wasn’t so noisy that she needed to speak up. In fact the place seemed so quiet with so many there, but Bilbo shrugged it off. “That’s so very kind of you to say.”

            “So is the King of course!”

            Bilbo blushed at thoughts of Thrain. Instantly imagines of Thorin played in his mind and the desire he felt, despite what had transpired between them made his heart beat faster. Could Dis hear it?! Bilbo could! What was he to do? _Not now,_ he told himself and took a calming breath. “Your father is very generous.”

            “That’s why THE KING IS SO FURIOUS!”

            Bilbo almost choked. “Furious?!” _Oh, God!_   What had he done?!

            “THE PRINCE’S MISTREATMENT OF YOU! SHOCKING!”

            “Excuse me?”

            “HIS DECEPTION!”

            Bilbo closed his eyes for a second. “Oh.”

            Dis shook her head rather dramatically. “HORRIBLY DISHONORABLE if you ask me! THE KING VIEWS IT THE SAME WAY!”

            Bilbo was hurt and a bit angry at Thorin’s rouse, but ‘dishonorable’ seemed overstating the fact. “I’m sure there’s a logic explanation.”

            “YOU ARE FAR TOO GRACIOUS!”

            “I won’t ... necessarily say that, but—”

            “NATURALLY, I BLAME MYSELF,” Dis said, heaving out a heavy sigh.

            “Oh, please don’t feel that! I—”

            “IF ONLY I’D BEEN CLEARER IN MY LETTER!”

            “But you couldn’t have known that—”

            “IT’S NO WONDER YOU CONFUSED THEM ON SIGHT! YOU HAD NOTHING TO GO ON!”

            Bilbo wasn’t deaf; why was she yelling? “I jumped to the wrong conclu—”

            “YES! ORI TOLD THE KING YOUR REASONING!   FRANKLY, WITH ONLY MY VAGUE DESCRIPTION, YOUR LIMITED KNOWLEDGE OF DWARROW COUPLED WITH HAVING NEVER MET THORIN OR DWALIN, YOUR ASSUMPTION OF WHO WAS WHO IS COMPLETELY UNDERSTANDABLE!”

            “Well ... thank you.”

            “ANYONE THAT THINKS DIFFERENTLY IS NOT ONLY UNKIND BUT JUST AS DISHONORABLE AS THORIN HAS BEEN!”

            “To be honest, I should have asked, not—”

            “MASTER BAGGINS, YOU ONCE AGAIN SHOW YOUR NOBLE KINDNESS WITH YOUR FORGIVING NATURE!”

            Bilbo wasn’t sure what to say to that. He wouldn’t go that far. Thorin still hadn’t spoken to him, so he wasn’t sure how forgiving he was.

            But Dis pressed on. “TO THINK! THORIN PURPOSELY WITHHELD HIS TRUE IDENTITY FROM YOU, BASICALLY LYING TO YOU, FOR ALMOST TWO WEEKS!”      

            Bilbo heard a few gasps near by, but when he turned to see what was the issue, everyone was drinking their tea and looking at their partners. _Maybe someone took a sip of a too hot cuppa?_   Bilbo let it go; wasn’t his business.

            “ALL I CAN SAY,” Dis cried, “IS THAT ANYONE WHO FINDS THORIN’S ACTIONS AND YOUR ... INSULT ... AMUSING, HAS NO HEART AND NO HONOR! THAT’S HOW THE KING AND THE REST OF THE ROYAL FAMILY SEES IT ANYWAY!”

            There was the sound of coins being thrown on tables and Bilbo noticed that several people stood and left the shop. _Probably time to go back to work, I imagine._

            Dis sat back in her chair, nibbling her biscuit with a very satisfying smile on her face.

            _Must be a good biscuit_ , Bilbo though. He took one too and it was very tasty.

            “How do you like your tea?” Dis asked.

            Bilbo hurriedly took a sip. It was good! “It’s perfect.”

            Dis turned her head as several more people left, offering her a nod of greeting as they went. Dis’ smiled widened. “Yes. It is perfect.”

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

            “Thank you,” Bilbo said as he opened the door to his chambers.

            “My pleasure, Master Baggins,” Dis replied. She seemed much more relaxed now.

            “Please,” Bilbo said, “You must call me Bilbo.”

            “Bilbo,” Dis said nodding. “Then you must call me Dis.”

            Bilbo smiled. “I’d like that. Thank you again for taking me to tea.”

            “Do you feel better?”

            Did he? He didn’t feel as tired and felt a little more like himself. “Yes.” Then again, his stomach rolled a bit, and he still felt a little off; not quite settled. He knew perfectly well why, but Dis didn’t need to know that.

            “Ori should be along soon,” Dis said. “His hours at the library have been reduced so that he can be with you.”

            “That’s very thoughtful,” Bilbo said. “But I hate to take him away from his work.”

            “Think nothing of it. He was the one that wanted to do it.”

            “Then, I am even more grateful.”

            “Excellent.” Dis smiled again and held out her hand for Bilbo to shake. “I will see you later; definitely at dinner.”

            “Yes. Of course.”

\-----ooooo-----

 

            Dis hoped her little display worked. It seemed to anyway. And after Rina had been able to join them, Dis made quick work of letting her know the full and exact account of what had taken place. She hadn’t quite expected her displeasure with Dwalin but, that could be dealt with later.   In letting Rina know the facts, Dis could trust the woman to make sure the true story gets around and correct any that would get it wrong.

            As she made her way to see her father, Dis passed the same small group of servants that she and Bilbo had passed on their way to tea. They were talking in a tight huddle and only noticed her when she was practically next to them.

            “Good afternoon, ladies,” Dis said quietly.

            “Good afternoon, milady!” “Good day, your highness!”   “How do you do, milady?”

            “I’m well,” Dis said with a smile.

            Dis turned the corner but stopped. Turning her head so that she could more easily hear the servants continue their talk and yet remain out of sight.

            “So ... as I was saying,” the oldest of the three said, “From what I’ve heard, it was the prince that caused all the problems!”

            “You don’t say?!”

            “Truly!”

            “What _did_ you hear?”

            “Well ... Lady Dis and the Half-ling—”

            “Hobbit. Remember it’s rude to say Half-ling.”

            “My mistake.”

            “Nevermind! Go on, go on!”

            “Lady Dis and the Ha ... I mean, Hobbit ... where at tea and my brother’s best-friend’s Uncle’s girl-friend just happen to be in the marketplace and followed them to the teashop and heard the whole story!”

            “Well?! Tell us everything!”

            Dis walked off, her smile turning smug. _Fight fire with fire. Or gossip with gossip._ She was sure her mother would have been proud of her.

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

* * *

 

 

            “Master Baggins?” Ori asked, as he slowly opened to Bilbo’s chambers; he’d knocked but got to reply. “Are you here?” Ori made a quick scan of the room and then, just as he was about to leave, spotted a tuft of honey-blond hair sticking out of the patchwork quilt that he’d thought was just flung on the sofa. “Master Baggins?” As he approached, Bilbo stirred under the quilt and pulled the edge down.

            “What time is it?” Bilbo asked in a deep, sleep-slurred voice.

            “Just a bit past midday, sir.”

            “I should get up,” Bilbo mumbled, a little more clear-headed than he was and began to disentangle himself from the blanket. He also seemed to fully realize that Ori was in the room. “Is there something wrong?”

            “No, sir,” Ori assured him, setting down the books he carried on the opposite end of the sofa from Bilbo and then turning to stoke the fire. “I thought you might like to chat a bit.”

            “Chat?”

            “About customs and ... whatever else you’d like.”

            “Oh.” Bilbo sat up now, taking a deep breath and rolling his neck. “How are you today?”   

            “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

            “I’m ...” Well, Bilbo couldn’t say he was all right because he wasn’t. He ached all over, like the kind of soreness one gets from working too hard and too long in the garden, even when their body is begging for rest. But it wasn’t the garden that had him sore. “I’m fine.”

            Ori clearly didn’t buy Bilbo’s blanket statement and turned a disbelieving look at Bilbo. “That’s not the way it sounded last night.”

            “Last night?” Bilbo wasn’t sure what Ori was – _oh, yes._ Now he remembered; he’d told everything to Ori the night before. “Right”

            “I must tell you,” Ori said softly, “you’re the talk of the mountain.”

            “I’m not surprised.” Bilbo didn’t want to think on that. “They must all think me an idiot.”

            Ori sighed. “Not everyone.”

            Bilbo shook his head. “Not everyone, but most I gather.” It must be bad if Ori isn’t even pretending Bilbo was wrong.

            “In time it will improve.”

            “How? By running me out of the mountain?”

            “No,” Ori said, now picking up the books and sitting down himself. “Lady Dis helped a great deal.”

            “Lady Dis?”

            Ori nodded. “Your visit to my mother’s tea shoppe.”

            “Oh, yes,” Bilbo sighed. “It was such an odd visit. Her Ladyship was so loud and ... I’m sure half the mountain heard her.”

            “I believe that was her goal.”

            Now that Bilbo thought on it, why else would Dis have been so loud? But what was the motive? “Why, do you think?”

            Ori shrugged. “I’m not privy to her thoughts, of course, but as you mentioned, you’re ...” Ori seemed reluctant suddenly.

            “Go on,” Bilbo wasn’t afraid.

            “Well, you aren’t viewed very ... favorably,” Ori said, then added hastily, “At the moment!”

            Bilbo chuckled, adding dryly, “Certainly wouldn’t be the first time in my life.”

            “But Lady Dis’ actions have started to turn the tide.”

            Bilbo was a little surprised. “Already?” Granted, Dis was born a princess and had to carry some weight with her people, but did she have that much power?

            Ori nodded. “And my mother, along with many Dwarrowdams, feel that you have been judged unfairly.”

            Bilbo shrugged. “And you believe that will make a difference with all the rest?”

            “Not all, no.” Ori was clearly not going to lie and Bilbo liked that. “But a great number will be persuaded.”

            Bilbo shook his head. Apparently, Dwarves were as gossipy as Hobbits. “Who knew it would have such a quick impact.”

            Ori nodded again. “Many things have been impacted.”

            Bilbo stared at the fire for a second before it dawned on him that the tone of Ori’s voice was off. Something _was_ wrong. “What do you mean by that?”

            Ori didn’t answer, but even in the red-orange glow from the fire, Bilbo could see the color in Ori’s color darken.

            “Ori, what’s happened?”

            The young Dwarf sighed. “My mother has revoked her permission.”

            “Her permission for what?” Bilbo watched as a single tear rolled down Ori’s cheek.

           

\-----ooooo-----

 

            Thorin woke, disoriented and nauseous, to the press of a cool hand to his forehead.

            “How long have you been like this?”

            Thorin rolled over and in the dim light of an oil lamp, saw Oin sitting on the bed next to him. “What do you mean?”

            “You’re almost feverish.” Oin took Thorin’s wrist in his hand, pressing fingers to the flesh below the thumb. “Your pulse is thready.” Oin leaned forward, inverting his ear trumpet so that it pointed down and pressed the bell to Thorin’s chest. “Your heartbeat is irregular too.”

            “I’m fine,” Thorin said, trying to push Oin away, but failing. He just wanted to be left alone. He was more miserable than anything else. Or so he thought.

            “If you’re ‘ _fine_ ,’” Oin sniped, “Then why did you ask Dwalin to tell me to check on you?”

            _Crap._ “I was ... peaky ... earlier today. I’m fine now.”

            “Elf-shit,” Oin barked out. “You are ill and not hiding it well. Besides, Dwalin said you could barely walk down the hall without his assistance.”

            “He ... exaggerates.”

            “Since when?! He is more likely, like you, to underplay and ignore illness, so don’t play games with me, young man.” Oin shook his head. “Now ... I’ll ask you again ... how long have you been like this?”

            Thorin wanted to continue the argument, if only on principle, but he couldn’t do it. He was ill. He knew it. And despite his desire to remain strong, was already worn out with the exchange. “Since returning home.”

            “Why didn’t you say something when you first came back?!”

            “I thought it would pass.” Thorin lied. _I had hoped and prayed it wasn’t what I actually knew it to be._

            Oin sighed. “So you thought you could just sleep it away?”

            _I thought I’d be able to see Bilbo by now._ “Yes.”

            “Has it gotten worse?”

            _Horribly so._ “No.”

            “Were any of the Rangers near you ill?”

            “No.”

            “Were _any of them_ ill?”

            “No. Not that I know of.”

            “What of the Halfling?”

            _Don’t call him that!_ “No.”

            Oin huffed out a sigh. “Still, we don’t know much of the Half-lings ...”

            _Hobbit! He’s a Hobbit!_

            “... he could well have germs that are contagious.”

            _He’s pure!_ “I doubt it.”

            “Well, either way,” Oin stood up. “My advice is to stick to bed, for now, bland foods and drink plenty of fluids.”

            _Isn’t that what you always prescribe?_

            “I’ll send around some teas for you to drink.”

            “No!” If he hadn’t been nauseous already, the thought of Oin’s ‘teas’ would have sent him over the edge. “No, not that!”

            Oin raised an eyebrow. “Don’t be ridiculous. You will drink them ... or else.”

            “Or else what?”

            Oin grew a rather vicious smirk. “Or else I will send your sister to force you to drink them.”

            Thorin rolled his eyes. “All right, all right! I’ll drink the damn things!”

            “Good.” Oin picked up his oil lamp and started to leave, but stopped short. “And I’ll send someone to build up your fire. It’s colder than an Elf’s heart in here!”

            Thorin wanted to protest that he didn’t need any help, that he was fine on his own, that he could do it. But he couldn’t. It was freezing in there, he just didn’t have the strength to get up and light the fire himself.

            Thorin curled back into a ball and covered himself with his furs and blankets. A short time later, he heard someone enter and begin tending the hearth. The quiet scratching as the ashes were swept up and removed, the clank of the ash can handle as the can was moved out of the way, followed by the gentle scrape of the scoop into the coal and then the soft plunk as the servant emptied the coals into the grate; the scrape and plunk were repeated three more times as the large grate was filled. There was the strike of the flint, the smell of coals catching and then, within a few minutes, the first hints of heat began to seep through the room.

            Thorin listened as the servant picked up the ash can and left.

            He didn’t care.

            He just wanted to be alone. He actually wanted peace, but that wasn’t possible. He couldn’t be at peace because Bilbo was everywhere in his mind. And the more he thought of Bilbo the worse he felt. He wanted to see Bilbo, talk to him, apologize, beg forgiveness, let Bilbo be angry with him, slap him, berate him, anything so long as they were in the same room, near each other, close enough for Thorin to feel Bilbo’s presence like a gentle breeze on his skin; they didn’t have to touch, just be near. And Thorin truly wouldn’t have cared if Bilbo was angry with him, he expected that.

            But this forced separation was maddening. It hurt. It ripped at Thorin to the point that he almost didn’t care if he got well. Yet, there was nothing to be done. He couldn’t very well go to his father; Thrain had made it very clear already that Thorin was to stay away. Plus how what would he tell him? That he found his One in the very person that was betrothed to him?! Forget it! And Thorin couldn’t tell Dis. She’d maybe understand, but he doubted she’d help, and she’d insist on going to their father and that took Thorin right back where he didn’t want to go. Could he tell Dwalin? Thorin shook his head. Not only would Dwalin take the piss out of Thorin, but he was in no better position to help than Thorin himself.

            There was nothing to be done.

            At that moment, the doors to Thorin’s chamber banged open and before Thorin could sit up and properly see who was there, the covers were ripped off, he was dragged out of the bed and thrown onto the floor.

            “What the hell—”

            “YOU’D BETTER BE DYING!” Dwalin shouted, picking Thorin up by the scruff of his neck and tossing him further away from the bed.

            Thorin tried to get up to his feet but he was in no state to stand up to Dwalin’s attack and with much pushing and shoving, Dwalin finally hauled Thorin across the room and flung him into a chair facing the fire. Thorin felt like he was going to vomit. _Just breathe_ , he told himself and that’s what he did. _In and out. In and out._ Over and over and over. All the while Dwalin paced back and forth in front of the hearth, breathing and snorting like a bull in what was clearly anger.

            “What’s wrong?” Because obviously, something was.

            “I don’t care what you have to do,” Dwalin snarled. “I don’t care what it takes! I don’t care if it half kills you!”

            “What?” Thorin had no clue what Dwalin was on about.           

            “You will fix it!” Dwalin spat out, continuing to pace.

            “Fix _what_?”

            “This problem with the Halfling!”

            Thorin’s stomach sank lower. “What’s happened? What’s wrong with Bilbo?”

            “YOUR LITTLE JOKE!” Dwalin bellowed.

            “What are you _talking_ about?”

            “Your little game has now fucked me over!”

            Thorin was confused. “What do you mean?”

            Dwalin stopped and turned a furious glare onto Thorin. “Thanks to you and your actions, Rina has revoked her permission!”

            Thorin got it now. “Because of me.”

            “YES! Because I was stupid enough to go along with your hare-brained schemes ... Rina now feels that Ori doesn’t deserve to be with someone so ... _dishonorable_ ... as me!”

 

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo had to do something to help Ori! But someone was way ahead of him ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some of you, who may be re-reading this chapter, will find that I have made some corrects to the dialogue ... minor adjustments ... but I wanted Dori's motives to be a little more clear ...

* * *

 

 

            Bilbo had no idea what he was going to say, or even if what he said would have any impact what-so-ever. Why would a woman he’d only met even acknowledge his concerns and listen to him when it came to it?

            But he had to do something!          

            He couldn’t just sit back and let his new friend suffer as he was, and Ori was suffering. It was clear that he cared for and loved Dwalin very much. Even if Bilbo harbored a tiny bit of resentment for the Warrior-Dwarf, didn’t mean that he would turn a blind eye, a deaf ear, or even the other cheek and let Ori be unhappy. And in all honesty, Bilbo didn’t blame Dwalin for what happened.

            It was all Thorin’s fault and Bilbo was getting pretty effing pissed with his highness, Prince _Dunder-head_ Thorin!   Especially as Thorin had _still_ not come to apologize! Bilbo should give that grumpy cow-paddy of a crown-prince a real telling off; a good piece of his mind!   He should put Thorin over his knee and tan Thorin’s backside until it was as red-hot as Bilbo’s anger! That’s what he should do! He wanted to chase him around the mountain with his mother’s best cast-iron pan, _(regretting now that he’d left it behind at Bag-End),_ taking great swings at Thorin’s head!   Bilbo giggled at that image! He ought to slap Thorin up-side the head and box his ears! He would be right to demand an explanation and make Thorin beg for forgiveness! He had a good mind to ... to just ...

            Bilbo stopped in his tracks and had no humor to laugh at his own ridiculousness because he actually had a good mind to give the big, stupid oaf – _his stupid oaf if he was truly being honest_ – a proper snogging and beg him to stop all this nonsense and just be together. Even if Thorin had no interest in being lovers, couldn’t Thorin at least be friends with Bilbo and spend time with him?

            That would be enough to quiet Bilbo’s heart.

            It would be enough to settle his soul.

            It would be enough.

            It would have to be.

            _Enough!_ Bilbo shook himself; enough about him and Thorin. The issue at hand was Ori. Ori and Dwalin. About Ori and Dwalin being together, and that meant having a chat with Ori’s mother, Rina, and convincing her that she should not blame Dwalin for what happened. Bilbo would tell her the truth; that he didn’t blame Dwalin, and therefore Ori should not suffer for an offense that Bilbo himself did see or hold as one.

            Making his way back through the market was easy as it was early evening and the crowds were thinner. He received a few polite nods from passersby and a couple had even used his surname in greeting, ‘Master Baggins’, which was lovely. But most kept a close eye on him as he passed and some simply leveled him with a hard stare and said nothing. Bilbo didn’t care; he wasn’t going to be everyone’s favorite or cup-of-tea, but at least they weren’t all laughing at him.

            As he got closer to Rina’s tea-shop he slowed, took a few deep breaths to calm himself and schooled his face into something relaxed but determined; he was that. He was only going to reach this woman if he remained cool, collected and made his point pleasantly and concise.

            But when he was in sight, he saw that someone was already talking with Rina in the shop.

            Someone with a full head of dark, raven hair and dressed in rich blue.

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

            “I don’t understand,” Rina said, her hands on her hips.

            “Mistress Rina,” Thorin said respectfully, “I’ve come to talk to you regarding Dwalin and Ori.”

            “ _What_ about them?”

            “I’m asking you to reconsider.”

            “And what is it, exactly, do you think I need to reconsider?”

            “Their ... understanding.”

            “Their understanding? I don’t see how that is any of your—”

            “I know,” Thorin said, hoping to keep the Dwarrowdam from exploding. “I have no business to intrude into a private, family matter.”

            “That’s correct! You don’t.”

            “But seeing as Dwalin is part of my family—”

            “Not your _immediate_ family!”

            “No,” Thorin conceded. “But he is more to me than a cousin or brother-in-arms. He is a brother in all but title, and therefore—”

            “Therefore you think you have the right to interject into their relationship?”

            “In this instance ... yes.”

            “I see,” Rina said, her tone sharp and an eyebrow inching higher.

            Thorin took a deep breath. “I know what has happened with Bil—” Thorin cut himself off; he had no right to use Bilbo’s given name. “—with Master Baggins, was ... my fault.”

            “I’ll agree there,” Rina said dryly, folding her arms across her chest.   “But again—”

            “Please, Mistress Rina,” Thorin said, feeling sick to his stomach. “If you will let me explain—”

            Rina huffed out a hollow laugh. “Is there any excuse for what—”

            “Not an excuse,” Thorin cut in. “An explanation, yes, but ... there is no excuse for what I did.”

            Rina didn’t respond but both eyebrows went up at that.

            “I treated him poorly, to say the least,” Thorin said, not looking away, not hiding his face, he deserved to see the scorn he’d earned on her face. “And I realize that is putting it mildly.”

            “Mildly.”

            “My behavior was inexcusable and deplorable. He did not deserve such treatment and had I any honor at all, I would have been honest and upfront with him in the beginning.”

            “Well ...” Rina’s expression softened a bit. “I think calling into question your honor might be a tad excessive.”

            Thorin shook his head. “I have to respectfully disagree. I treated him most dishonorably. He is a kind and gentle soul that did not deserve my lies and deceptions, regardless of my intentions or suspicions.” Thorin paused because he felt like he was going to throw up. “I have often expressed a dislike for Elves and Men because of what I believe is a duplicity in their natures and claim that they are without honor or consideration for treatment of the Dwarrow as a race. And yet, upon meeting Master Baggins, I had no hesitation to do the very things to him that I accuse other races of doing to us. And it was nothing short of my own arrogance that drove me into using questionable means to achieve an end that proved not only unnecessary but horribly unwarranted.”

            Silence hung in the air and Thorin waited, waited for the dressing down that he knew he deserved and was sure to be coming from the good Lady Rina.

            “I cannot, and will not, argue,” Rina said, her voice even, “that what you say is true. And I do believe that Master Baggins is owed, by you, a great apology.”

            “I owe him far more than an apology.”

            “But,” and here Rina turned irritatedly confused. “I cannot see how _that_ has _anything_ to do with Dwalin and Ori.”

            “They should not be blamed for my mistakes.”

            “ _They_?”

            Thorin nodded. “I know ... Ori is completely innocent in this—”

            “What in the—”

            “—and he should not have to suffer because of my arrogance—”

            “Yes, but—”

            “—but your rebuke of Dwalin causes, not just Dwalin but, Ori to suffer as well.”

            “My rebuke?”

            “I ... I beg you,” Thorin had promised Dwalin he’d do whatever needed to be done and if begging was needed, then so be it. “Dwalin cares greatly for Ori—”

            “I’m well aware of that.”

            “—and Dwalin would never treat Ori as dishonorably as I have treated Master Baggins.”

            “I’m sure, but—”

            “Therefore, I beg you to reconsider and give your permission for them to court.”

            Rina stood there, her face unreadable, silent and merely staring at Thorin. Thorin, again, did not look away, he deserved this. He deserved more than just Rina’s scorn, but right now, this was about Dwalin and Ori. Not him.

            Finally, Rina drew a breath and demanded. “What in the name of Durin’s Beard are you _talking_ about?!”

            Thorin closed his eyes for a second; clearly, the Dwarrowdam had no issue with stringing it out and making Thorin the fool. Once more, he felt he deserved it. “Dwalin came to me and told me that you’d revoked your permission—”

            “I’ve not even _seen_ Dwalin since his return!”

            Thorin was confused. “But Dwalin told me you held him as equally responsible for my deception.”

            Now Rina was angry. “I would _never_ blame another for someone else’s mistakes or choices!   What kind of person does he think I am?!”

            Thorin didn’t know. “I ... I can’t imagine why he would lie.”

            Rina seemed to turn it over and then, a light went off, and she shouted over her shoulder, “DORI!

            The door to the back of the shop opened immediately and Rina’s oldest child, Dori, came out quickly, drying his hands on a towel. “You called, Mother?”

            Rina fumed until Dori came to stand in front of her. “Tell me ... and I want an honest answer ... did you tell Master Dwalin that I had revoked my permission for him and Ori to court?”

            Dori’s cheeks colored a bit and he looked to Thorin and then back to his mother before clearing his throat and holding his head up high. “No, Mother. I never said a word to Master Dwalin.”

            The wheels of Rina’s mind seemed to come to stop as her expression turned perplexed. However, not a moment later they obviously began to turn again as her gaze narrowed. “You didn't tell Dwalin ... but did you  _tell your baby brother_ that I had withdrawn my permission?”

            At that, Dori’s face drained of all color and his mouth worked but nothing came out.

            Rina nodded her head. “I have not seen Dwalin at all, so in order for him to believe such a farce, it would have to come from a very reliable source. And the only source he’d believe other than me would be Ori.” 

            Dori looked anywhere by at this mother, and she was not done yet.

            “And in order for Ori to believe it,” Rina continued with a sarcastic tone, “it would have taken more than one brother alone. Was Nori at your side when you informed Ori of my ... revocation?”

            Dori checks did color at that; blotchy and red. He still said nothing. It was not needed.

            “So, my two oldest,” Rina said with a cocked eyebrow. “Both of whom never particularly cared for Dwalin’s courting of their little brother, decided to use an unfortunate situation to their own advantage in order to end what they saw as an unfavorable attachment.” Rina shook her head. “Talk about unhanded dishonor.”

            “But, Mother!” Dori said, defensively. “Master Dwalin’s involvement has got to show that he is not suitable for Ori, and—”

            “At worse it shows him to be complacent!” Rina shouted.

            “But he stood by and did nothing!   He should be judged for that!”

            Rina made a disgusted face.  "And who are _you_ to pass such a judgment?!”

            “You and I have always been in agreement on other issues," Dori said, clearly surprised at his mother's position.  "Therefore, I thought you would see things I do ... and as I am the man in the family-"

            “WHAT?!” Rina brought a fist down on the table next to her, cracking the stone tabletop. “How _dare you_ place yourself above me as head of this family!”

            Dori tried to backtrack. “I ... I ... I ... I didn’t mean—”

            “You thoughtbecause you’re a man, you could over-ride my authority make decisions for us all!”

            “No! No, not at all! I would never—”

            “BUT YOU DID!” Dori’s color turned a sickly green, and Rina closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths to calm herself. Finally, she opened her eyes and leveled Dori with a hard look. “You, Nori and I will be having a long, _long_ chat about the roles of hierarchy in a family and how gender plays no part in them.” Rina took another few breaths before turning to Thorin. “If you would be so kind, Prince Thorin, would you please inform Master Dwalin, for me, that I have not, nor have I ever, revoked my permission for him to court my youngest, and that at his earliest convenience I would like to discuss the matter further with both him and Ori.”

            Thorin nodded. “I would be glad to give him that message.” Thorin was relieved for Dwalin but he still felt ill, wanting nothing more than to go and lay back down, and so turned to leave. But Rina’s voice stopped him.

            “And Thorin,” she said softly. “You should give Master Baggins that apology.”

            Thorin nodded but added. “As I said, though, I owe him far more than that.”

            “I won’t assume to know him well,” Rina added, “but I think I know him well enough to say, that an apology ... honestly given ... and sincerely meant ... would surely earn his forgiveness. He did not strike me as one to hold such a grudge.”

            Again, Thorin nodded and turned to leave. He did not disagree with Mistress Rina’s assumption; he too believed Bilbo to be a forgiving soul. But it wasn’t just Bilbo who needed to forgive Thorin.

            Thorin wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive himself.

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

            Bilbo was almost lightheaded.

            He _was_ lightheaded!

            When he’d come upon the shop and saw Thorin standing there, speaking with Rina, Bilbo had quickly hidden behind a few boxes and barrels by the shop’s entrance and listened.

            Oh, Yavanna!  Thorin was sorry! He was truly sorry for what happened! And he didn’t hold Bilbo in contempt!   At least, it didn’t sound like he did. In fact, a few times, Thorin’s voice had sounded small and broken and oh how that had pulled at Bilbo. Thorin sounded miserable over it and believed, wrongly, that he owed more than an apology to Bilbo.

            How wondrously ridiculous!

            _Oh, Thorin!_

            So lost in his own relief, his headache gone and his listless evaporated, it was still a shock to realize that Thorin and Rina had stopped talking and all Bilbo heard was the sounds of the market closing down.

            He needed to speak with Thorin!

            He had to tell him that it was all right!

            That he did indeed forgive him!

            Bilbo popped up from his hiding place, expecting Thorin to still be standing there, only to see Rina wiping down tables; alone in the shop.

            _Where was Thorin?!_

            Bilbo turned around, looking this way and that, and finally saw Thorin’s hurriedly retreating back on the other side of the market! Leagues away!

            Bilbo took off running.

            “Excuse me!” he said, whipping around a Dwarf.

            “Idiot!” the Dwarf growled as he almost tripped.

            “Pardon me!” he insisted as he ran under a long tablecloth two Dwarrowdams were folding up. 

            “How rude!” the two Dwarrowdams said in unison as he sped by. 

            “Coming through!” he giggled as he wove in and out between a group of miners who were walking in a huddle, blocking his way.

            “Watch yourself!” one of the miners said. “Leave it to a Half-ling to get underfoot!” another miner commented nastily. “Is that a pun?” said another miner with a laugh. “Nah, just an unintended crack about their feet!” All the miners laughed at that.

            But Bilbo didn’t care.

            He didn’t have time to care; Thorin was getting away.

            Bilbo thought about shouting for Thorin to stop, but that would have been exceedingly rude and really, shouting at Thorin to stop like he was a common thief, would not be a good thing to do in front of his subjects; Bilbo would have rightfully earned Thorin’s anger at that.

            BUT THORIN WAS STILL GETTING AWAY!

            By the time he’d gotten to the royal wings, he’d lost Thorin. No matter. It wasn’t like there were a ton of rooms to search. He was sure that Thorin hadn’t headed to Throne room; it was late, doubt the king would even be there. And it was evening, so a quick check of the dining room wouldn’t be out of the question; not there though. Thorin wasn’t down the hall with Dis and the boys, nor was he in the hall were the Bilbo’s rooms were.

            Turning a corner, Bilbo came upon the hallway that had two guards standing on either side, each holding a long spear upright. The king’s chambers maybe? Bilbo thought the King was not far from the throne room, but he could have been mistaken.

            One way to find out.            

            “Excuse me,” Bilbo said to one of the guards as he came near. “I’m looking for Prince Thorin’s room.”

            “It is down this hall, sir,” the guard said.

            The guards seemed a little stuffy, maybe even stiff, but they were not condescending or rude. “I see. Is he there?”

            “He passed by but a few minutes ago,” the second guard said.

            Bilbo nodded. He started down the hallway but the guards both turned and used their spears to block the way.

            “You cannot pass, sir,” the first guard stated.

            “But, I—”

            “Orders, sir,” the guard said.

            “Orders?”

            “Yes, sir,” the second guard confirmed. “You cannot pass this way.”

            Bilbo was incredulous. “You have _orders_ to stop me?”

            “We’re sorry, sir,” the second said, and he did sound sorry.

            “You cannot continue on to Prince Thorin’s rooms,” the first guard said emphatically. He too sounded sorry, but that did not change their minds; they continued to block Bilbo’s path.

            Bilbo wanted to argue. He wanted to insist. But he was surprised. He was shocked. He was unbelieving. After all the things he’d heard Thorin say, the prince had still ordered his guards to keep Bilbo away. Block him from seeing Thorin. Of getting that apology that Bilbo absolutely deserved to have!

            Bilbo may have turned away, unwilling to argue with the guards who were only following orders, but he was beyond mad!

            HE WAS PISSED!

 

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

* * *

 

 

            “Has Bilbo seemed ..” Dis tilted her head. “... off?”

            Thrain and Balin both turned to look at her and Thrain stated, “Not that I’ve noticed.”

            Dis narrowed her eyes slightly. “Have you spent time with him?” When her father didn’t answer, she asked, “Have you spent _any_ time with him?”

            Thrain’s cheeks colored slightly but he held his head up; he was a king after all. “I’ve been _very_ busy.”

            Dis cocked an eyebrow and said, dryly, “Shall I take that as a ‘No?’”

            Thrain sighed. “One of the main reasons to have Ori with him was so that he didn’t get lonely because we knew I wouldn’t be able to be there all the time.”

            “I know that,” Dis conceded. “But you still need to spend some time with him ... more than just at dinner ... because, if you had, you’d notice he’s been ... reserved?” That wasn’t quite the word she was looking for.

            “Hobbits do love their food,” Balin said with a chuckle.

            “You don’t know him that well either, my dear,” Thrain commented.

            “True, Father ... I don’t know him _as well as I’d like_ ,” Dis said. “But I think I know him well enough to say he seems ... off.” At that, she turned to Balin. “And it’s more than distraction due to the enjoyment of eating. He seems ... preoccupied with something.” She was still unhappy with her words but which was the right one.

            “Maybe he is unsure?” Thrain offered.

            Dis shook her head. “You said yourself that when you met him he was ... what did you call him ... ‘ _amiable, intelligent, kind, and rather jovial’_ if I remember your description correctly ... certainly not the sort to be inadaptable.”

            “But living here _is_ new to him,” Thrain pointed out.

            Balin obviously turned Dis’ words in his head. “You know ... now that you mention it ... he hasn’t really joined conversations.”

            “That’s what I mean!” Dis said, happy that someone was getting it. “One almost has to draw him out. He’ll answer questions or chime in when asked, but he hasn’t gone out of his way to initiate anything. It’s like he is ... brooding.”

            “He must have hung around Thorin too long,” Balin quipped.

            Yet Thrain finally seemed to understand what Dis was saying. “How did I not notice?” Thrain asked quietly, almost to himself.

            Dis smiled at that. “Because you want everyone to get along and be happy, so if there aren’t fights at the dinner table or shouting or arguments, you tend to think everyone is all right. Besides, when you do join us, you huddle in the corner, still working into the evening.”

            Thrain almost looked embarrassed; it was very true. “What am I do to? Leave it all to tend to itself?” He’d not spent any time with Bilbo alone and left Ori to entertain and settle Bilbo. But he was King after all.

            “No, but ...” Dis said, moving over to take her father’s hand. “I fear with Bilbo, you may ... well, we _all_ may ... have missed something. For the last few days, he’s seemed very ...”

            “Very ... _what_?” Thrain pushed when Dis continued to dither.

            Dis bit her lip; thinking of the right word, then snapped her fingers. “Reticent.”

            “You think?” Balin asked.

            Dis nodded. “His answers have been short ... almost curt. Not rude, mind you, nor unfriendly. But he’s miles away in his head and reluctant to come back.”

            “You _really_ think so?” Thrain asked.

            “He acts like he’s ...” Dis again searched for the right definition.

            “Unhappy?” Balin supplied.

            “Disgruntled?!” Thrain asked, sounding a touch concerned for where the conversation was headed.

            “Annoyed?” Balin threw in.

            “Close, but ...” Dis said, then a light went off. “PEEVED! That’s it! He seems peeved over something. Something he can’t let go of but clearly won’t discuss either and it’s occupying his every thought!”

            “What in the world could upset him so?” Balin asked, concerned.

            “I think that would be fairly obvious!” Thrain said, shaking his head, remembering Thorin’s ridiculous scheme.

            Balin didn’t argue at that. “Half the populace dislikes him.”

            Thrain’s expression morphed into anger. “I should have exiled Thorin for what he did!”

            “To be honest,” Dis said, softly, “I don’t think it’s about Thorin anymore.”

            “Don’t you?!” Thrain asked. “If he hadn’t pulled that stunt and—”

            “I don’t truly believe it’s that, father.”

            Balin didn’t argue that point either. “Most were unhappy with the marriage, to begin with.”

            “But, still ...”

            “I think you’re forgetting,” Dis said. “We worked on his acceptance for a month or longer and we still had a long way to go when they arrived back at the mountain.” Thrain opened his mouth to argue, but Dis continued. “And while Bilbo was a bit of a joke when he arrived, at this point, Thorin's ... _misguided endeavor_ has been forgotten or at least viewed as _yesterday’s news_ by most ... if not all.” It had been over a week since they’d returned. Thorin’s act wasn’t that funny to last more than a few days, let alone seven.

            Thrain, however, was not convinced. “Had he not done what he’d done, had he had even a small shred of honor, then—”

            “Father,” Dis said firmly thinking back on a conversation she had with Rina. “Calling into question Thorin honor is ... well, it goes too far.”

            “Do you think he did right?!”

            “No. I’m not agreeing with it, but many feel that Thorin’s performance was acceptable.”

            “How do you work _that_ out?!”

            Balin cleared his throat and chimed in. “Dwarrow do not trust other races.”

            Thrain sighed. “But the Hobbits—”

            “Are still another race,” Balin said with a small chuckle. “Asking Dwarrow to blindly trust is like asking an Orc over to tea. It’s unthinkable.”

            Thrain still wasn’t buying it. “But Hobbits have never wronged us!”

            “And most,” Dis said, “aren’t willing to give them the chance to do so. Hobbits may not have wronged us, they are still viewed as nothing more than ‘little Men’ ... a large percentage of the populace believes, like Thorin, that the Hobbits are not to be trusted and your marriage is something nefarious.”

            “Most of _your council_ don’t trust the Hobbits,” Balin said.

            “But they’ve not protested!” Thrain stated.

            “Because they trust _you_ ,” Balin pointed out, while Dis nodded. “That is far different than trusting the Hobbits. Plus ... we need the food.”

            Thrain stood and stalked about the room. “So it’s fine to use them as others have used us.” The idea was revolting to him, yet there was a reason why Dwarrow were considered selfish and greedy. And he didn’t really need to be told the feelings and suspicions of his people; he understood. But he had been sure that as he accepted the Hobbit’s offer and was willing to marry for it, that his people would accept, and in turn accept Bilbo. This news that they had not was not at all welcomed.

            “It might be better, sire,” Balin said gently, “if you talked to Bilbo about it and discussed ...” Balin cleared his throat and paused for a moment before saying quickly, “... halting the marriage.”

            “ _What_?!” Had Thrain heard right?

            “He is clearly bothered by _something_ ,” Dis said. “It’s ... entirely possible ... that ... that he feels that he’s ... well, that he’s maybe made a mistake.”

            “So we ruin the treaty before the first shipment even arrives!”

            “We could always ...” Balin shrugged, “... renegotiate the terms. Suggest that it would be better to marry him off to a ...”

            Thrain stopped. He knew what was coming. “Go on ... say it.”

            Balin sighed. “Someone ... perhaps younger.”

            Thrain was no so vain as to be offended, but that wasn’t the point. “And who would be acceptable? Your brother perhaps?”

            Balin laughed. “I doubt that would go over well. For either party.”

            Thrain smiled and turned to Dis. “What about one of the boys?”

            Dis smiled in return, not taking the bait. “Kili would probably ... he’s rather fluid. Fili? Maybe. I’m not sure.”

            Balin chuckled. “Perhaps Thorin would do?” Thrain and Dis turned horrified expression on the elderly Dwarf and Balin laughed out right. “It would be a poetic punishment, to say the least.”

            “The least said about it,” Dis said dryly, “the better!”

            “Stop making jokes,” Thrain said, “The treaty was signed and the decision made. Besides, Bilbo has done so much to fit in!” Thrain had been very happy to hear that Bilbo and Ori got on exceptionally well and had been a quick and eager student with the young scribe. Particularly when it came to courting and marriage.   “I can’t believe he’d put that much effort into something that he would then just ... abandon!   Are you saying his efforts have been a farce?!”

            “No!” Balin insisted. “That’s not it at all.”

            “Well, then?”

            “Just because he has worked hard,” Dis pointed out, “doesn’t necessarily mean he still agrees. I think his attitude may be showing that.”

            “I don’t believe it!” Thrain waved off their concerns. “In fact, I think it may show that he is frustrated by the lack of progress.”

            “Progress, sire?” Balin asked.

            “He might see us as dragging our feet,” Thrain said.

            “No pun intended, I’m sure,” Dis said with an amused smirk.

            But her father was out in a laughing mood. “We Dwarrow don’t rush into marriage! He may see as overly hesitant and might be getting insulted.”

            “But Hobbits don’t rush into anything either.” Balin pointed.

            “They are far faster than Dwarrow,” Thrain pointed out, then turned back to Dis.   “You and Vili courted for six years before you married, and you were each other’s Ones! By Mahal, your mother and I courted for _ten years_!” But Hobbits court for what? A year? Two?”

            “Ten to eighteen months,” Balin said. “And ten is more common than the latter.”

            “That’s my point,” Thrain stated. “And that’s the entire process! Once they propose, the marriage takes place quickly after. We had planned on waiting two to three months for Bilbo to acclimate to our people and our people to him! Maybe we were wrong to wait and Bilbo now feels that we are the ones having second thoughts. Maybe we need to speed things up.”

            “Speed things up?” Dis asked. “What did you have in mind?”

            “I think we need to make the necessary arrangements,” Thrain said, “and move the marriage to next week. Surely that will make Bilbo much happier.”

           

\-----ooooo-----

 

            “Are you all right?” Ori asked Bilbo.

            Bilbo sighed. “I’m fine.” He could hear the curtness in his voice, and he felt badly for essentially snapping at Ori, but he was still so annoyed! He got up and started pacing about.

            “You don’t seem fine?” Ori said.

            “I’m fine!”

            Ori gave Bilbo a pointed look. “You’re lying.”

            Bilbo turned around, furious, but then stopped as he caught Ori’s expression; it wasn’t mocking or angry, it was open and honest. And Ori was right. Bilbo deflated, flinging himself onto the couch. “I’m just ...”

            Ori got up, sat on the other side of the couch and waited.

            Bilbo sighed again, heavily and sat up straight, turning to Ori. “Have you ever felt ... powerless?”

            Ori laughed. “Frequently!”

            “I don’t mean like, status or rank.”

            Ori nodded. “You mean more like ... personal?”

            “Yes! We Hobbits take responsibility for own actions!”

            “Doesn’t everyone really?”

            “Apparently not! I mean ... when someone has wronged you, they should apologize!”

            Ori nodded. “I never thanked you for going to speak on my behalf. I’m sorry I haven’t said so before now.”

            “No, no, no, no, no!” Bilbo shook his head empathically. “I did that for you, as a gift, it was my pleasure and I wanted to do it!”

            Ori smiled. “I do thank you.”

            “That’s what friends are for.”

            “Yes,” Ori said, his smile growing. “Friends.”

            “Sadly, though,” Bilbo continued. “Not everyone understands the niceties, like ‘Please’, ‘Thank you’, and ‘I’m sorry!’”

            Ori nodded. “You feel that that Dwalin needs to come apologize to you.”

            Bilbo shook his head. “Not at all. I don’t blame Dwalin ... truly.”

            Ori got it. “Oh ...”

            “Oh, indeed!” Bilbo growled out. “We Hobbits may wait a bit ... several hours ... a day, even ... let both parties cool down ... but certainly not a week!   And we definitely will get up, go to their home, knock on their door and apologize in person, face-to-face!”

            “That sounds like the right thing to do.”

            “Someone doesn’t even have to bring food!” Bilbo stated, before leaning towards Ori and saying, “Although, you’ll be surprised how nice an Iced Lemon Pound Cake will help the apology go down.”

            Ori’s breath hitched. “That does sound nice!”

            Bilbo nodded, dreamily. “With fresh berries and a cup of sweet tea.”

            Ori licked his lips. “Should we ... maybe ... go to my mother’s shop and I can apologize properly for not thanking you soon enough ... over a couple of slices of cake?”

            Bilbo was amused. “In that case ... yes, you were very naughty to wait and I think we need to have cake!” The both giggled at that until Bilbo came to his senses. “WE'RE GETTING DISTRACTED AND OFF THE SUBJECT!”       

            “Cake can do that.”

            “Thorin should come apologize like a descent person!”

            Ori nodded. “That is the problem.”

            “Easily solved in my opinion!”

            “Not really.”

            Bilbo was shocked. “Don’t you think? I mean, don’t you think I’m right in—”

            “It’s not about you,” Ori said softly.

            “You don’t think Thorin should apologize?!”

            Ori shook his head. “It’s not about Thorin either.”

            Bilbo was confused. “Maybe you do need cake ... you’re a little addled.”

            Ori rolled his eyes. “It’ not about whether you deserve an apology ... which you do ... or that Thorin should come apology in person ... which he does ... but it’s more the fact that he can’t.”

            Now Bilbo was really confused. “Why in the world can’t he?!”

            “Because the king has forbidden him to come near you.”

            “WHAT?!”

            When asked later, Ori would swear he heard Bilbo’s blood begin to boil.

 

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

* * *

 

            “Bilbo!” Ori whispered loudly, desperately, trying to keep his voice down, as he hurried after the Hobbit.

            However, Bilbo either didn’t hear or was outright ignoring his friend for he continued his march towards the throne room undeterred.

            “Bilbo, _please_ ,” Ori begged. “You can’t just ... yell at the King!”

            Bilbo laughed, without humor. “Oh, can’t I? _Watch me_!”

            Ori was beside himself. He shouldn’t have said a word, but he honestly thought Bilbo not only knew of King Thrain’s decision to keep Thorin away from Bilbo but also understood. “But it’s not appropriate!”

            “I don’t give a hang about propriety right now!”

            _Yes, I can see that._ “The King makes decisions for everyone!”

            Bilbo huffed. “If this was a matter of policy, or ... war, or ... _something_... I’d understand. But this is none of those things!”

            “Isn’t it?”

            “No! This is my life!”

            Ori shook his head. “There is no difference to a Dwarf.”

            “I am not a Dwarf!”

            “No ... but you are his intended!” Bilbo came to halt and Ori felt relief; maybe he had a chance to stop this. With a newfound hope, he pushed on. “You may not be an official member of the royal family ... or even a subject ... not yet ... but you soon will be.” Bilbo did not move, or turn around, but nor did he argue and Ori took that as a further good sign that maybe he was reaching the irate Hobbit. “I’m sure the King only had your best interest in mind.”

            Bilbo slowly turned but his expression was unreadable. “But don’t you also think he should have asked me first?”

            Ori raised an eyebrow. “Kings aren’t one for asking anyone anything first.”

            Bilbo returned Ori’s look. “Does he not have a council? Does he not take the _advice_ of said council?”

            Ori was not to be baited. “He does have a council and he does take their advice, but—”

            “My grandfather doesn’t dictate!”

            “Is your grandfather a king?”

            “No, but—”

            “Has he been taught to believe ... since birth ... that he governs through divine right?”

            Bilbo sighed. “No, but—”

            “Have his people looked to him to make decisions for the entire kingdom?”

            “We aren’t a kingdom.”

            “Shall I take that as a ‘ _No_ ’ then?”

            Bilbo chewed on that for a second. “Yes.”

            “Then I have to ask, could a wrong decision on his part mean life or death for his entire people?”

            Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Of course not! But his ... suggestions—”

            “Suggestions are not edicts or laws or anything of that nature, are they?”

            Bilbo drew a breath. “No.”

            “King Thrain’s _are_.”

            Bilbo said nothing but he looked far calmer and collected.

            “I know it’s hard for you to accept ... maybe even hard to imagine or believe ... but King Thrain was born to be King and his word is the final word on any and all subjects and his decisions are our laws.”

            Bilbo remained still but he didn’t argue.

            “I’m positive that the King’s decision was only based on his concern for you and his anger at what Prince Thorin did. He was only trying to make things right by you. I’m sure of it.” Bilbo nodded and Ori finally felt relieved. Placing his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders and smiled. “You do understand, don’t you?”

            Bilbo looked at his feet, clearly turning things over in his mind. But the next moment he looked up and his expression was not happy. “HE STILL SHOULD HAVE TALKED TO ME FIRST!”          

            Bilbo spun on his heel and started marching again, leaving Ori to hang his head in frustration.

            “Bilbo, please, please ... _please_ ... be rational.”

            Bilbo came to a halt in front of the throne room doors, the guards on either side eyeing him warily, and he huffed out a low sigh, before turning to Ori. “Fine,” he said quietly, giving his friend a thin-lipped, tight look. “I will do my utmost to keep a civil tongue.” He turned, drew a breath and opened the doors to enter.

            _That’s all I can hope for at this point_ , Ori thought as he reluctantly followed Bilbo.

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

            As they entered the room, King Thrain, Balin and good Lady Dis were standing together, discussing something that was not to be overheard by either Ori or Bilbo, but they didn’t turn to the newcomers so whatever it was must have been very important as to hold their attention tight to their small group.

            That didn’t last though.

            “Your majesty!” Bilbo demanded.

            If the King was put off by the sharp tone of Bilbo’s voice, he made no indication of such. In fact, he seemed positively pleased. “Bilbo!” Thrain threw out his arms in greeting. “I’m very happy to see you!”

            “You are?” Bilbo asked, hesitantly. The King’s warm welcome was unexpected and it had slowed his march into the room, letting Ori quickly to Bilbo’s side.

            “Indeed!” King Thrain said with a smile. “I’m given to understand that you might be ... upset.”

            Bilbo shook his head. “Really?” Bilbo was perplexed. “How did you know?” Bilbo only found out less than half an hour before, how could the King know of his displeasure already?

            King Thrain sighed. “It’s been noticed.”

            Bilbo’s cheeks coloured at that. “Oh.” He really did need to control his temper sometimes.

            “And I understand.”

            “You do?!” Bilbo was amazed! He thought he and the King would be in the midst of a shouting match by now, what with Bilbo questioning the King’s authority.

            Yet King Thrain nodded. “You must be very frustrated at the situation.”

            Bilbo sighed and smiled. “I have been.” He was so glad that he wasn’t viewed as over-reacting!

            “And no doubt that has soured your mood.”

            Bilbo smiled sheepishly. “I hate to admit it ...”

            “There is no reason to feel guilt or shame.”

            Bilbo was truly relieved.

            “With all this in mind, we’ve decided to bring this situation to a resolution.”

            Bilbo was thrilled! He didn’t want there to be any more harsh or bad feelings between him and Thorin; it was time to settle things. “Well ... Thank you!”

            “I’m happy you’re happy.”

            “It’s been so upsetting.”

            “I can imagine.”

            _No, I don’t think you can,_ Bilbo thought. But he pushed thoughts of feelings for Thorin out of his mind, lest they show on his face _._ “I’ve not understood until today really.”

            “So, Ori has helped you?”

            Bilbo would not deny if pressed, that he’d wished King Thrain had told him, himself, but at least it was out now and in the end, it didn’t matter who told him. “Ori has been very helpful.”

            “That is even better news.” King Thrain gave a smile and a wink to Ori. “He’s been a good choice of companion.”

            “He’s been a real _friend_.” Bilbo was not exaggerating; Ori was practically the best friend he’d ever had.  

            “Excellent.”

            Bilbo sighed, he was glad it was over, but he wanted to see Thorin. “So ... when ...”

            “Next week.”

            Bilbo almost took a step back. “Next week?” _Why must we wait so long for a simple apology?_

            King Thrain nodded. “It takes time.”

            _For what exactly?_ Bilbo was a bit confused. “For something that takes but a few minutes?!”

            King Thrain laughed. “It will take longer than that!”

            True, Thorin was no Hobbit; it might take a bit longer. “I guess you’re right.”

            “Oh yes,” King Thrain said, solemnly. “There’s more than just signatures involved you know.”

            _What?_ Bilbo didn’t understand. “Signatures?”

            “For the contract,” Balin said, coming up next to the king.

            “There’s a contract involved?!”

            “Naturally,” Dis said, coming up on the other side of her father. “What do Hobbits do?”

            Bilbo turned to Ori, but the young librarian looked slightly slacked jawed as was of no help. With a clearing of his throat, Bilbo turned to Lady Dis. “We ... each have our say and then ... it’s over ... often over cake,” Bilbo said cheekily.

            King Thrain laughed. “Naturally there will be cake!” Even Balin chuckled.

            However, Dis added, “It’s a little more involved with Dwarves.”

            “So I’m gathering ...” Bilbo said quietly. “A week ... just for an exchange?”

            “Preparations must be made,” King Thrain said.

            “Preparations ...” Bilbo parrotted, trying to be congenial and catch up. “So .. what do you need me to do?”

            “Oh ... well ...” Dis smiled. “I’ll take care of everything.”

            “But ...” Bilbo huffed out a laugh; this seemed strange!   “Don’t you need _me_ to write something out? I mean ... if we have to have a contact?” Shouldn’t the apology contain his own side of the disagreement between Thorin and himself?

            “We can easily work-in Hobbit ... declarations, or ... vows into the clauses.”

            “Ah ... _what_ ... excuse me?!” What were they going to make Thorin vow? Never to be disagreeable again to Bilbo again? That was not only ridiculous but, frankly, wouldn’t that take a little of Thorin’s charm away from him?

            Balin nodded. “Isn’t that what you call the promises a couple makes?”

            “Well ... vows are promises, but ...”

            “We Dwarves don’t say vows,” Dis said. “Everything is written in the contractual clauses, but we can adjust the written wording to bring it more inline with Hobbit wedding vows.”

            “ _Wedding_ vows?!” Bilbo exchanged a slightly startled look with Ori, who had also just caught up.

            King Thrain smiled. “Yes. For the ceremony next week.”

            Bilbo gulped. “Next ... _week_?!”

            Balin and Dis nodded, while King Thrain said, “We understand your frustration with waiting for the marriage ceremony, so we’re planning on moving the wedding to next week rather than then the agreed upon month from now.”

 _OH, MY GOODNESS!_ This was so not what Bilbo was talking about!  How had they been having two totally different conversations, _at the same time_?!  “Your majesty ...” Bilbo had to redirect the conversation. “About, Th—”

            “Your majesty!” They all turned as Oin came rushing into the room. “I must speak to you of your son!”

            “What of my son?” King Thrain demanded, sounded irritated.

            “He’s ...” Oin looked at everyone there and appeared reluctant to say.

            But King Thrain sighed in his impatience.  "He’s _what?_ ”

            “He’s not long for this world.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this story is loosely based on the legend of Tristan and Isolde ... and I shouldn't have to tell you who is who! ;)
> 
> also, i am playing a little loose with the timeline and ages ... i hope you can forgive me.


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